The Riverbank, Part Two (My Pillowcase)

It is things like my pillowcase

That send me back to when I curled up by the riverbank

Black tears clouding my vision and corrupting my heart

Although I built a bridge and conquered the waters

I am not a magician

The bridge remains there and so does the river

And I am scared that something will frighten me

Into running back over the bridge

And that this time I won’t have the courage

To overcome the inky waters

The worry swirls in the head that rests on my pillowcase

The same head that holds the eyes

That shed the tears

That poured into the river

And soaked into my pillowcase

Through the eyes of someone else,

It is just another dry, colorful, pillowcase

The washing machine washed out all the memories

But I see my pillowcase,

And if only for a moment,

It takes me back to the riverbank

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