I can feel myself spiraling somewhere dark,
the light in my head that has always salvaged me
switched off and kicked somewhere,
indeterminate.
And I’m afraid that no amount of fumbling will find it in my hands again.

You leave your past behind to erode in your head;
crumbling temples tangled in the jungles of your mind where you do not wander.
The secrets of yourself still dormant within them—gold and glittering in the dust.
Sealed up beneath the settled dirt of the memories you choose not to visit,
and you call it moving on.