I'm a marker
Running out of ink.
I'm a jar half empty.
I'm a steel pot
Boiling over, losing
Water plenty.
I am what the voice
Will say, what it tends
To judge.
Burn down life-long
Narrative.
Often troublesome
To budge.
So while the voice
Of haunted past will
Speak its ugly mind,
I pick through reminders
Carefully,
Noting to be kind.