definitely not foreshadowing

"The blood that soaks the ground, and leaves me weary on the floor."

I don't have any idea what that sentence fragment means.  It was a piece of a poem that I thought of long, long ago; the most I remember is that the poem was about a friend of mine, but I really don't have a clue what that line has to do with anything.  It was just a spare piece of inspiration that hit me and stuck, but I could never figure out how to work it into the poem, and the rest of that potential poem is lost to time.  This piece, though, remains.

How stubbornly it persists, refusing all attempts to use it, release it, or forget it.  How inconveniently it springs to mind at the most random times, interrupting my thought patterns and sending me scattering to understand it.  How frustrated I become, with this useless piece of nonsense verse careening through my mind like an alpha particle.

I've tried to insert it into any old poem, but it just doesn't go.  I've even tried to write entire poems around this specific line, in the hopes of removing it from my consciousness, yet it remains.  I suspect the problem is that the "me" who first thought this line up was a very different "me" from the one I've become, and our appreciation for and understanding of what makes a good poem have diverged wildly.  I suppose I could write a bad poem, but...that's not really what I do.

This is hardly the only meaningless phrase that springs from my brain, uninvited, on a regular basis.  I seem to slowly be developing my own nonsense language, meaningless phonemes jammed together by my capricious mind into a semblance of communication.  Some of it sounds like Japanese, which isn't too bizarre, but it is not Japanese; the rest is some weird mixture of what I think Russian sounds like and what I think Italian sounds like, and none of it is very pleasing to the ear at all.  And yet, the wife has taken to responding to my exclamations in this patchwork tongue with something bordering on comprehension.  It's advanced beyond the level of simply reacting to my tone; she seems to be able to glean some actual meaning out of these ululations of madness.

Sometimes, when we play games that require a level of psychological understanding of another (for example, Apples to Apples), it can border on the eerie how good we are at knowing the other's mind.  "Married person telepathy" is how it's come to be known by some of our friends, and I think that's an example of what's happening here.  Spend enough time with somebody, and you begin to be able to second-guess everything in his or her head.

All of which is to say that my brain's contents are too hush-hush to be unveiled to just any random person who happens to be married to me.  Something will have to be done about this, and soon.  I'll keep you apprised.