My twenty-first year
I hung upon my walls
Two memories
Two photographs
One of the ocean
and one of my childhood
I believed that if
I dreamed hard enough
Wished enough
I could somehow,
someway, jump back in
Now the glass is broken
There's a wound within my head
There lies blood upon those pictures
and blood in this empty bed
I thought that I could whisper
but nothing can be said
I swallowed one memories shard
When I was trying to expel them all, instead