MANGLED MEMORIES

By Roger Wallock Copyright 2007

The pain deep inside

feels like Armageddon

but you know it’s not.

Not completely physical

and yet

the lump in your throat

and the shank in your back

are as real as any war wound.

Not strictly emotional

and yet

the tear streaked face

and the ache in your heart

leave scars of depression.

What is it?

No other anguish etches

cerebral engravings like this.

Goals unattained,

expectations shattered,

years of intense

preparation wasted,

squandered, shoveled

into the sewer.

You can’t meet their

eyes, you want to

shrivel up and die.

The weight of the

town’s hopes crushes

the ego like some

helpless spider.

Nowhere to turn.

Insomnia-filled nights

curled up like a fetus

suffocating

in amniotic fluid.

You try to console

yourself with the

blessings of life:

family, friends,

a roof, a meal.

You want to be

thankful, move on,

forget it, but the

echoes of

One game

One chance

now just

mangled memories

haunting the shadows

in the skull