It's all the tiny stabbing pokes, br I never seem to feel, br that in the end, come creeping back br refusing still to heal. br Through all the years the tiny pains, br were those that hurt the most. br They haunt me like some parasite, br my mind is but a host. br Selective memory is my friend, br I need him to survive. br Without his help the 'partnership' br would not come out alive. br My thoughts resemble solar flares, br erupting then, a soothing calm. br And in disguise through tired eyes, br forget and store them in a psalm.