The Old Days

Sometimes the “good” worms
into my thoughts – no, not thoughts.
My gut, my archival memories,
the illusive patterns perhaps once
a source of pleasure, later compulsion,
habit, obsession – bestowing pain
as a sadistic surrogate for comfort.
The Old Days have value in establishing
credentials, my bonafides.  Otherwise,
they’re useful only as a map
of forbidden territory, a land of horror.