out of sight out of mind

they always say.

and it works

on most days

until it doesn’t.

the remanence of the shattered love

remains in sharp scattered pieces

lain in the background

forgotten almost

appearing in shadows passing

looming ever-present in the

deep recesses of the brain.

and even though

we have crossed our Ts

and hearted our Is

it feels like there is something missing

maybe there always will be

and the nails sliding down the chalkboard

behind my ears is not nearly as cumbersome

and the shouting quarrel may have been reduced to a mere whisper

but the morose and fretful nagging has only increased its propensity

and the volume of the pounding panic

will remain deafening

and as fucked up and cloying as the

intoxicated brain can be

it is the only silence that is not anxiety inducing

and it can even be mistaken for peace.