Death

Death dead inside and out

Everything I see

Is death dead inside and out

I wish I was deaf

Instead of just blind

F*** somehow I still see it graphically

The curse of a photographic memory

Keraticonus they say

No

It’s a psychosomatic response to the vivid horrific deposits of images clustered in my neurons.

I can’t focus

I can’t muster the will to go on

But I do because I still have a job to do

But the joy is gone

Never to return

I don’t have a choice

At least you had a choice

I never had a choice

The hearing will be the next to go