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.