Hannah

As the late autumn season creeps in, I am acutely aware that these muted recollections are about to resurface.
I am painstakingly mindful that past ruminations will soon run rampant, that my restless imagination is just revving up.

Combing my way through this tattered, cloaked path and pushing the cobweb brush away from my face.
Kicking away dense, overgrown thorn patches that have lined this trail since my last visit.
Stomping through wet piles of broken-off branches and damp leaves that lead to my asylum.
Glimpsing my destination through this thick shackle of trees, the site both serene and unsettling.
Arriving at this familiar scorched picnic table, its splintered seat calling my name.

I’m not sure I can be what you need or what you deserve. We should talk tonight.

This anguish bullies me into digging deep, dire holes where I bury myself in my faults, flaws, and self-worthlessness.
These tormenting thoughts race through my tireless mind, steering it to the darkest, harshest abyss imaginable.

As the chill of the crisp November air whips around, I am keenly cognizant that I’m never too far away from unrelenting sorrow.
I am painstakingly mindful that past ruminations will soon run rampant, that my restless imagination is just revving up.

Studying previous tear-soaked stains on a table that I’m about to drench again, I’m helpless to these seasonal assaults.
Eulogizing a time when misguided adoration, infatuation, and fascination lifted me to previously unattained nirvana.
Reviving memories that I’ve struggled so vigorously to quell, I’m defenseless against these unwelcome intrusions.
Reliving these muddied stories, my convoluted narratives cast more upheaval, doubt, and unrest than I can process.
Slumping deeper into this moss-covered bench, it’s in this spot that I’ll dwell until the darkness overwhelms.

I’m not sure I can be what you need or what you deserve. We should talk tonight.

These unwanted ruminations rest in uninvited vicinities, gnawing at my sanities, deliberately and definitively.
This bitter indignation traps me in a perpetual loop, my mind replaying events from which there is no escape.