Forgetery

All the everything pulled me inside. Like a house in a land-slide, or a TV glow. There in the thick of it, as I reeled in the light, I was drowned in the happenstance that all this information would leave me. Back to the shadows. Forgetery. Forgetery alive and well. Call it HANDS TIED. The illusion of choice. Shot-gun wedding. Rock and a hard place. 'Cause when I taste it – just one moment of TRUTH – what I'm wishing would linger seems to leave me. And I fear that distraction ever near me. So I'm open and broken. Feels like teething. The sweet pain of the PROCESS. Forgetery. Forgetery alive and well.