HOME | DD

Description
I wish I could forget brief moments, so that memories would stop stalking me, like hungry ghosts waiting, begging for satisfaction. They come knocking at my door, interrupting the foolish dreams I chase. 'I don't want you here', I protest, but they push past and make themselves at home. An old couple lies sprawled on my couch, gazing into each others eyes. My kitchen is overrun with cooks, old smells and ingredients spilling like marbles across the floor. I retreat, burrowing further and further; past clothes and sentimental trinkets, past frames filled with faces I want to forget. 'Come for a little pleasure, have you?' one leers at me from my bed.
How do you run from yourself?
Shut down – the final escape – I force myself to numbness. You follow me though, looking for sustenance. You feed on my emotions, drinking them in like a man parched with thirst. Even after I drive the others out, you lean against the doorjamb, with that half-smile curling on your lips. Like old, bitter lovers we drink together and imagine what life could have been.

Description
I wish I could forget brief moments, so that memories would stop stalking me, like hungry ghosts waiting, begging for satisfaction. They come knocking at my door, interrupting the foolish dreams I chase. 'I don't want you here', I protest, but they push past and make themselves at home. An old couple lies sprawled on my couch, gazing into each others eyes. My kitchen is overrun with cooks, old smells and ingredients spilling like marbles across the floor. I retreat, burrowing further and further; past clothes and sentimental trinkets, past frames filled with faces I want to forget. 'Come for a little pleasure, have you?' one leers at me from my bed.
How do you run from yourself?
Shut down – the final escape – I force myself to numbness. You follow me though, looking for sustenance. You feed on my emotions, drinking them in like a man parched with thirst. Even after I drive the others out, you lean against the doorjamb, with that half-smile curling on your lips. Like old, bitter lovers we drink together and imagine what life could have been.