i try my best.

why is it that 
we forget the 
best dreams as soon 
as we open 
both our eyes?

i try my best
in my lost head
when getting up
out of bed on
sunday morning.

i try my best
to remember
the touch i felt
it was soft but
could be softer.

i try my best
to remember
the voice i heard
like a siren
enclosed by sharks.

i try my best
to remember
the eyes i saw
like waterfalls
poured into hell.

why is it that
we are haunted 
and can’t seem to
forget the worst 
bleakest nightmares.

-j.r.

december 2019

. . .

justice, 21 from new jersey, USA has found his voice in the grains of a photograph. he finds comfort in the nightlife from city to city, feeling as though without a home.