see, the issue with memories is that,
despite two people experiencing the same events,
we can remember them completely different

I remember you as both an extended metaphor and an unwritten letter
the silences were always worse than the elaboration
but we both know how you bottle everything up,
a castaway stuck on your own personal timebomb island
the longer you stay there, the more severe damage hits you
the extended metaphor of you goes like this: I'm still writing it
and you've still extended to my present day, no matter how I try to repress you
you're a lump on my throat, and a stone in my stomach
like the ones you forced me to swallow
to keep this frail figment from floating away
those stones still remain. battered and bruised organs along with them.
More or less, you still remain.
Your blank page letters still haunt me
and oh how I wish I could defuse your damage,
I most certainly tried
but I guess I had more than enough of my own at the time
I remember you like a dog remembers an electric fence,
"I never want to stumble across that again"