I was listening to music with a friend
yesterday. They said they liked the playlist.
It had some good songs they hadn't heard
in a while.
That playlist is nearing five years of age,
not many additions, if any.
I started listening to it again last week, after
those five years; fasten ear buds to ear
and begin reminiscing.
The playlist is significant, if only
to me. A part of something that is now
a part of me. See,
it was the playlist I chose to put me
to sleep, all those years ago.
Just a few songs played while I was trying;
maybe five of the two hundred displayed.
But when one hits, I -
The knife is in my hand. It has not yet tasted my blood, but it will. It looks thirsty. No, it’s me that is thirsty. I just hope the knife can get its fill. My heart pumps like it’s fight or flight. I intend to do neither tonight. I lift the knife up to give it a drink. I start to cut, and I think –
Wow, what a hit. My heart is
racing again, the drug of memory
tracing my brain;
but the song is gone. So I
wait for another one to come on.