Memories

Memories hang at the precipice of nightfall

Each somewhat held by familiar voices

That crack at the echos

And dissipate across galaxies

Struggling to hold

on to the fallacies

we fed ourselves

as each finger was greased

by midnight oil

And encouraged to let go

Encouraged to b r e a k

 

Because parts of us already did

Because

Parts of us

hanged at the precipice for a little to long

Because

Parts of us struggled to get full on to the fallacies we fed ourselves

Because

Parts of us

Weren’t us

And

they never will be.

 

© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Sharon Christina