DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, So under whose name-?

When I think about
the fade of things, except for the memories
their sound
I have a contingent downfall of blood
rushing to my neck
to the back of it, it rounds
because if memories shall win
this time also, anytime soon
who shall they belong to?
I'm realizing they were never mine
to start with
& not even anyone's
who was within
So under whose name will the memories of the now,
be labeled with?

I used to talk
knowing that the echo would be swallowed
into throats of crowds
from near or from far: It wouldn't matter
now I talk
the echo comes back to me
eventually
no throat to swallow it
it superfluously circulates
drawing a chuckle
to the insides of my cheek
thinking it's a trick
of a distorted reality: It matters at the end of it all
-whose name-?

don't be deceived
it doesn't reach
the ultimate preach
they pass me the pen
they pass me the word
they pass me the salt
& I shall receive
for the reach itself
to be thrown
minding its business
its essence thought to be drawn
afraid to break it to you
it didn't even make it till dawn
-name-?

                                                   ­                                        ------ravenfeels