Treasure Hunt

I have a way of coping.
I pull my head apart.
I want to try explaining,
But.
I don’t know where to start.

Perhaps I’ll draw a picture.
To accompany these words.
But,
I’m afraid I’ll purge it all at once,
Like a startled flock of birds.

When you get an image,
That you don’t want in your head.
Do you let it take control of you?
Or cut it up instead?

Imagine that this image,
Is a grotty patchwork quilt.
Completely multicoloured,
And hanging limp with guilt.

Now each small square upon this quilt,
Represents a different slice,
Of this image/vision/memory,
Be it horrible or nice.

So let’s take a certain image,
Which I witnessed recently.
I grab the horsy by its mane,
And chuck it in the sea.

Another portion is a feeling.
I think it is disgust.
I lock it in a filthy cellar
And leave it there to rust.

If you look inside a post box,
Sicky feelings you will find.
That’s where I chose to hide them,
I hope the postman doesn’t mind.

Gross sensations crawled on me,
Until I hid them too
I hate it when they find me,
When I haven’t got a clue.

Although there are more fragments,
I think you understand
The reason for my treasure hunt.
I hope you understand.