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thinking, thinking, thinking,
but my pipes aren't working.
the taps turn but no water comes out,
the drought in my brain growing ever still, aching for
a thought to grasp onto.
sweet nostalgia,
coursing through my veins,
filling me up with emotions,
happy,
yet sad
that they're gone,
grasping onto all that's left of them.
photographs.
bits of nostalgia you can fit in your pocket,
full of stories and adventures.
rivers where emotions lie,
giving these snapshots meanings.
oh sun.
you're a drug
of happiness,
creating smiles
and playful moods.
you shower me
in warmth,
like a hug
from a friend
embracing me
in your arms.
how could memories,
so sweet,
have poison
seeping through them?

all i want to do
is devour
those memories,
but they
devour me,
bit by bit
breaking me down
until i am no more.
a masterpiece,
you were,
perfect in every way,
painstakingly chiseled
from stone,
every curve
made with detail
and precision.
why are you creeping back?

why now, after we have gotten used to life without you?

how can you let your poison intoxicate me once more?

i was finally free of those toxic memories,

but now it's them i can't escape.
I just had a shot
Of Pappy Van Winkle neat
Smooth with a good burn
Woe to the one,
Who is stung by a bee.
F*ckin hurts a bunch
Makes one want to flee.

Even after he dies,
The bee knows what to do.
You might not realize,
But the stingers in you
“The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.” ~ Fernando Pessoa
the stars collect little pieces of you,
they rain down on me,
and glide into the empty space
next to me,
and sing me to sleep with your
steady breaths.

m.e.
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