A Parade Goes By

it's a strange parade
that
tramps down the road of
memory.
the pattern is seen,
the same sad
clowns time and time again.
the same lipsticked women
with charm
and snake oil,
their convoluted lies.
the mistakes I've made
in trusting
carnival folk,
with their tattoos and earrings,
the lost and confused,
the hunger artists,
the pill purveyors,
the abused.
I wave as they pass by.
not a tear in my eye.
I see them carrying their empty
bowls,
the empty glasses,
their sharp knives
pressed
against wrists and throats.
I finally see it all for what
it really is,
for who they really
are and the damage I allowed
them to do to my life,
but no more.
this time I let the parade
pass by.