Glimmering Past

My past glimmers. Like spikes of metal, bent by hammers. My crooked past prods me into the present. So I may forget those that I used to resent. I remember my family’s last smiles. I would see them again, but not for a while. I thought I would become a monstrous memory of theirs. I try to hold onto them by a hair. That is cut by shards of reality. As I lose all sense of causality.