There seems to be moments that just hang there in time.
As if there were on silent replay, they repeat themselves.

Seeking refuge, some live here, relinquishing their voice.
They too live on repeat, with no sound, no light other than the memory.

Some, refuse to acknowledge the memory; it never fades.
But they deny it happened, they close their, ears, eyes, their hearts.

Still on silent replay, the memory lives on, caught on a synapse.
Stuck in someone's mind's eye, they escape...Hung, with a memory.

The first rule of the ten club fight club is you don't talk about the ten club fight club!


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