Flashes Like flipping through a photo album in my brain my mind flashes through all the places from before. Some good. Some bad. Some so ugly I want to squeeze the memories out of my head so they won’t be mine anymore.
I love the simile of memories being like a photo album in my mind, and the desire to squeeze the memories out of my head so they wouldn’t be a part of my identity anymore. As a poem, I like it very much. As a page in my novel, it was redundant and perhaps the voice was out of step with my character.