I pick up the pieces
of the broken frame
ever so carefully.

The shards of glass
and coarse splinters crawl
their way inside my skin,

and I forget the rage
that sent the picture
flying across the room,

as my mind forges
yet another brisk
memory –
one that eats me

and calls me
a glutton.

Parts of my past –
the hoarse whispers –
crawl their way between
the vestiges of
memory imprisoned
inside me,

and become screams,
drowning out the clouds
of who I used to be,
and in a lightning flash of clarity,

I am free,

no longer framed in glass and wood

© Christopher Rupley and Steve Shultz 2015

(This is a collaborative poetic effort between myself and Steve Shultz. Please check out the rest of his work by visiting hereIf you enjoy what you read on The Brown Bag Special, please visit and like the Facebook Writer page for Christopher Rupley by clicking here).


5 thoughts on “Memoratorium 

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