The crashing of the waves and the furious sound they make are not enough to drown out these turbulent and loud thoughts inside my brain. The serotonin rush is not enough to flood these jagged neural pathways; ones not carved by running water–not riverbeds, but fractal lightning scars that mar my memories with vivid scenes of savage things I wish I’d never seen, caught perfectly, perpetually burned as flash photography.
The rolling tides of pain in tandem with this crippling self-blame are dragging me out to sea; now it’s struggle or be swept beneath. The vicodin shroud is not enough to cloud or blacken out the faces captured in the polachrome, or cross out the words written on the frame so hastily. It’s these vivid dreams of savage things that cause this lack of sleep. Caught perfectly, perpetually, burned into my mind as flash photography.
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