Work Text:
Bucky.
Bucky.
Bucky.
a name so well-known in the back of my mind, yet so unfamiliar
out of the mouth of a guy I can't seem to remember.
The mimic of his face when he looked at mine
Was it shock, guilt or shame with a hint of surprise?
Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.
I'm longing for the memories of someone that seems so far away
What's my name? What's my story?
Am I him?
Bucky?
Memories rushing through my mind
who is this someone, so young and so kind?
flashbacks of a person that I don't know
are haunting me even at my worst low
Snow, a train, this guy from the bridge, blood, very much blood
I brush over my left arm, that is suddenly hurting
which can't be I get reminded as soon as my fingertips settled
feeling no skin but something cold and metalled
one woman, one girl, laughing, taking a boy at his hands and dancing with him trough the rain
That isn't me.
That can't be me.
is this what they consider as suffering?
that it feels like there is no recovering
with phantom pain and glimpses of a person's life
making me harden the grip around my knife
I don't know what's worse
is it the pain of not remembering
or is it the blaming shame mixed with a tint of heartache
of a life I supposedly could've had?
Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.
Bucky. The only thing I have left of what I can't remember
But why don't I remember who I was before all this?
There was no before this
I try to remind myself
But what if there was?
What if I actually had a life?
What if I had family?
What if the guy on the bridge was actually my friend?
I don't wanna shake this warm feeling
like something once lost and broken in me is slowly healing
But as fast as it came
It already faded away like a dying flame
For the first time in my life I wanna be free
cause his memories don't belong to me
and as much as I wish they do
they're not mine to hold on to
Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.
It got me thinking
what a shame it is to live a life while only sinking
sinking drowning falling
with a never ending calling
Am I really only this killer everyone sees
or is there maybe more hiding underneath?
Shouldn't I know, out of all persons
what is going on and why my memory only worsens?
Every step I take feels like my first and my last
like I've been reborn just to die as fast
How ironic to compare me;
someone with very much blood on his hands
with someone who at Sunday nights
loved nothing more than to dance
This guy from the bridge is still not leaving my mind
Was I who he wanted to find?
when he fought this other side of me
which I never intended to be
The first person in years to not look at me with hate
maybe drowning in pain but still with a bit of faith
Funny how he knows more about myself than me
god, will I ever be free?
Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Buck.. Buc… Bu…. B…..
Who am I?