The Split Mind

My mind is split, a coin that will not land,

it spins between lapse and remembering too much.

One side erases life at my command,

the other brands the memory with a searing touch.

-

A week dissolves, as though it never was,

until a word unlocks the buried reel.

Then every glance, every touch, every pause

returns intact, more vivid than I can feel.

-

I slip into the fog, but I can flare the fire,

no middle ground, so softening shade of gray.

The silence comforts, but the flood conspires,

a storm that leaves me ruined in the sway.

-

I am both the absence and the living wound,

a self untethered, yet endlessly attuned.