Paint the heads of your collection on the ceiling,
An assortment of faces that you miss, all showing the same feeling:
hatred.
You tell me, "No one will ever remember me,"
but you're wrong.

I collect, too, writing and rewriting all the hearts that I once knew.
Letters to their owners, punching old memories until my knuckles bruise black & blue
Misery.
I say, "No one will ever remember me,"
and I'm right.