in the cobweb lined corridor that leads to my past
the paintings on the walls have a portentous look
as if to say “don’t go through that last door”
memory has such a foul odor
it putrefies the senses
and turns the stomach
the dried vomit of lament
reminds me of all my wrong turns
there stands the monument i made
a grand statue to commemorate my innocence
a castle of ashes, slowly decaying
into the sea of regret it overlooks
too many years of tears pouring from the sky
like acid they corrode the ramparts
the faces in the paintings now screaming
as my hand turns the knob
the door to another world
free from the missteps of my past
the door to-
an empty hallway
with paintings for me to hang
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