I get sad sometimes.
When I think about all.
That's happened.

But.
I got.
Used to it.

I holistically.
Preclude your.
Mindfulness.

For the upaya.

Of a burnt.
Old.
Cigarette.

Everything is so.
Elegant.

Everything is so.
Neat.

Harmonious.

I wonder if the forests.
Will be just as beautiful.
On fire.

As they are.
In my memory.

Everything is empty inside.
And I see your passing face.

Somewhere down the line.

I thought I knew you.
But maybe it was just the image.

I had in my mind.

This is the wasted space.
I take up.

Starving myself as punishment.

Just can't connect.
And be.
Pro social.

My mind's numb.
My memory fuzzy.
And.
I can't remember what I told to you.

Whether good.
Bad.
Or somewhere middling.
In between.

It all just dissolves into an amorphous mess.

My memory.
Images of where I used to be.
Fragile enough.

To be forgotten.

All there is.
Is the silence.
The high pitched squeal.
Of the death of my hearing.

And.
I can hear the emptiness punctuated with electrical whines.
Anticipating something to just.
Fill the air.

With an angsty.
Revolt.
Against the.
Calm.