New poem..not quite sure if I like it. It's a bit 'serious'

My Anamnesis

Sometimes - our memories trap us.
Sometimes we try and stop.
Ignore that unremitting buzz
That makes our faces drop

Those shadowed holes that fritter
And stain our coloured thoughts
Distorting them like litter;
Then leave us overwrought.

At least they do to me.
And boy, will I cling
On to every bad memory
And every bad feeling

And inspect it, and dissect it
‘Til it’s butchered and it’s void
But regret I won’t forget it
Lest I turn to Sigmund Freud.

And swiftly come to the conclusion
That I’m fine in all respects
And that my faulty brain intrusion
Was uncharted need for sex

Sig my friend, its’ not that easy
This is unrelenting sadness
Which is why I’m feeling queasy
Not a vast erotic madness

To be honest, I’d prefer that;
To be feeling sexually deviant
Acting as a human welcome mat
Would be slightly more convenient

Than this swift loss of composure
Mark my name in your last thesis
That I’m simply needing closure
For my murky anamnesis.

My anamnesis is in pieces
And I don’t know what to do
As my momentum increases
And I’m stuck without a clue

Of how to fix it, my exquisite
Thoughts of good times and the bad
This isn’t normal, is it?
To be this sort of sad

And to swim in contemplations
That you cannot change again
Analyzing concentrations
That happened god knows when



And to delve into my cluttered psyche
To pick a single thought
About a moment I chose to dislike
Slightly more than I ought.

Basically - these feelings trap us
And we dwell dwell dwell
Upon a moment that is hapless
With emotions that then swell

Into a mammoth lack of grace
That snags my throat onto a hook
And screams with fury in my face
That I deserve to feel this stuck.

And I deserve to feel this hollow
If I continue looking back
Unless of course I choose to swallow
This insistence to backtrack

Sometimes our minds form fingers
That caress our quivering cheeks
And force ourselves to linger
On our memories most bleak

But luckily, some fingers break
Especially metaphorical
So violent acts to induce ache
Are fine, if allegorical

Especially when memories hurt
And secretly we fall to pieces
But outside we can all avert
Our inner anamnesis.