I remember when memories
were crop dusted into epiphanies
and even the slightest hope for redemption
was begged for.
I remember when bones shivered
at the very thought of forgiveness
because I, myself
was terrified at the inevitable idea of truth.
The sweltering silence of the dispositioned room
led me to a melancholy state.
I fished for a slightly logical reason
to be entranced by these somewhat
fleeting moments that had led me to feel
a perpetual love in the eye of the beholder.
So to seek,
I hummed broken words and arranged them
onto paper to behold even the slightest thought of intuity.
As if i had played my imagination to be
the unchanging sea and thinking
I had opened over 1000 doors,
and was perplexed at the thought of which to close first.
Oh but even more terrified at my sustaining comfort
of never learning how to sail.
As my heartbeat scraped along
my unadaptable and inadequate lungs,
I came to the exhausting realization
that every “afterthought” of pain and suffering
was somewhat comforting
because even
in the desolating yet squandering end,
I remembered.