leaving a trail
of tattered scraps
of the maps
leading back to
the homes that
are only home in name
places i have
no intention of
ever seeing again

eyes forward
the past is too easy
to get lost in
when i am not quite
sure where i am
at the present

i know these streets
like the back
of my mother’s hands
tracing scars
that take me back
to simpler times

drawing maps to
where the scattered
ashes of who i was
drift lethargically
on the winds of change
blinking away the
dissociative fugue
blurring road markers
into a perpetual loop