In My Head

When a thing happens, the past is made,
But what’s left in its wake is the present –
Where we grapple and strive to meaning-make:
In absurdity and self-inflicted torment.

Nothing means anything, but I can’t let go,
I’m a captive without comfort in my bed,
Sucked into the past by the jaws of the present,
And the stories that live in my head.