I believe that Memories turn on themselves. Just like the subconscious. It takes what you don't want To think about Flips it Skews it Presents itself in a most appealing Adam and Eve type manner Then pulls it away.
This is for hands left unheld For days left uncelebrated For calls not made Words not spoken Dreams not lived Tears shed when no call came at midnight. Tears shed. This is for falling down That spiral that you swore Was not for you
Too bad you don't get a choice.
Tick tick tick Time is slipping You're wasting time Can't you see that time is Melting through your fingers, Falling through the cracks because of The heat that pounds down on you And your uselessness, your waste.
Your memories will turn eventually. They were once shiny and new. Appealing. Hopeful. Now, they crumble like Decrepit walls, abandoned homes, Like hands left unheld. Blowing away in the wind, Nothing but ash.
Something so beautiful turned to Something so, so hated.