Baton
Vague memories haunt me still,
they come whether sadness or thrill,
too often at the very worst time,
it rings in my head, a Pavlov chime,
some reactions are unrehearsed,
but at the same time I feel versed,
like a dark coffee my actions appear bold,
when in turn, inside I break and fold,
you, most of all, don't deserve this exposure,
twisted memories becoming my composer.
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