To the Fading Memories

The good memories stung the most.
Past bleed into the present.
It hurt to think that her presence
could have pushed the moment
to be that little better,
and I started to not enjoy the simply things that I used to.
Then I started to apply it to the new things
then I tried to
spend my time a little better.
Then I got lost in all the bad things
I reveled in them,
because I could do them without a bad conscience,
after all she wasn’t involved anymore.
I went all the way to distract myself from the pain
in the end lost the joy in everything.
What a miserable experience this
ride is.
A cling onto a wooden horse head
in a carousel.
A terrible image collage
half the characters get lost
it pushes you to the brink
declares itself meaningful
spins around
a play with no through line
the worst are the mornings
having drawn a line in the sand
having to face
what has no present.
memoryhole the obscure lessons
No wonder an indifferent god to existence
wanted to curse someone with it.
It must be fun watching the ant
make a reason of it.
Just finding things to do,
Bittersweet endeavors
under the magnifying glas,
you are freer than most
All the same ash,
I will keep our secrets
until we both
become one with nothing.

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