I find myself forgetting who I used to be
The darkness that once consumed me vanished
Like a burnt out candle
And I don't know if this flame will ever reignite
But the smoke still lingers here
It seeps into the walls, into my bedsheets
The memories don't give me headaches anymore
Nor does smoke burn my throat or pollute my lungs
And I'm trying not to let the consequences of my previous mistakes anchor me down any longer
It's hard to write poems that don't make people want to cry
Because for the last five years that's all I've done,
Is cry
And dread the following day that has yet to arrive
As if I know how I'll be feeling when I'm 54, 65, 80
As if I know what beautiful days the future holds
As if I know the glorious moments that await me
I don't
Because life is a ticking time bomb without a visible countdown
How could I be so vain as to determine how long this sadness will last?
How could I play God?
I won't