defeated by regrets

With a few breaths pushed through my lungs,
I watched what I had called progress
unraveled into thin threads. The spool ran away from
my fingers, and I screamed and screamed —
saw him cower in the corner of a shower
the walls dented by the imprints of the nails.
All I saw was red, and black, faded into
dull gray.

He was now taller than me, and not taking it lying down;
not anymore. These skin has become tough as the alligator hide.
Touch me, Ma, and I will tackle you to the ground.
Push me, Ma and I will make you forget the day
I was born.

I always go back to the beginning where there was a black rim
around the sun, and the stars, oh how they blinked at the sky
showcasing the insignificance of our existence.

I am given a short time; could count the hours, the minutes, the days
the weeks, years with my hands. Like the way I count the steps to the fourth
floor where my office is. Seventy-two steps, or is it sixty-two? I always
lose the count by the third floor. This brain is hard to receive, retain
information as if all the rooms of the house had been filled up with
litter swept from the streets. Those dusty streets I used to know.
They want to keep themselves glued inside my brain. But I have now
lost the map.

I died a hundred times, Amy Winehouse sang in my head.

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