A Flood of Recollection

Thousands of miles away from home, you crouch
in the attic with a hunger so urgent you have
no choice but to salvage the dead rats in the corner.
With your hands, the stench of old and rotted flesh
parts with their frail, decaying hides. While the water
swirls into a stale pool in the
living room, you can hear the wind as it
picks up and beats the tin roof
with insatiable desire. Used to be you avoided
the attic, its earthly stench of stashed-away memories,
now reeking in the rising waters. And you are trapped in the attic.
You are trapped in the rain. Trapped in the tidal wave dammed
by the door of the bedroom below your feet. You can feel it ascending.
But you are already submerged, a part of you, buried in the flood,
surging with nostalgia that you chose to forget.
You are trapped in the attic. You are trapped in your mind.
Trapped in the withering rats you are about to devour. You repulse yourself
But there is nowhere to run anymore.
As you crouch in the attic, thousands of miles
Away from home.

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