It's all locked up in a chest. The chest is full of pictures, cards and yearbooks. I cry everytime I look at my memories. I feel like I once again am living in a black abyss filled with hooks. That this locked closet wil never let me out. Tears of rebirth will never come And al the voices will never stop. As I look at my memories as they come. I try to breathe in but no air comes. I tr to move from my memories, but the schakles grow heavier. I fear my memories. For they tear my heart up everytime. They make me what to die just to be free from thier tease. Yet I never can be free. Memories...An overrate word. To some it is nice. To others it is anger, anguish and hollowess. Memories...Are pains to all who keep them. When I look back, I experience again the cease. I once loved my memories. But now, I can't even stand to be near them without crying myself to sleep with no ease. But memories, are memories...

by Corey Mason

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