amnesia finds me searching for what is lost value or sentiment the words are the first thing to slip each at some point originated from these hands their texture is unfamiliar now though it's only been one day
full-on compositions are released to the void luckily clouds hold some vapor
I hope it rains tomorrow
forecasts say it's unlikely I will ever see you again your disappearance hasn't even occurred (to me) yet
dust will fall but will ashes this is a lesson in fighting for
I sighed it all away before any instinct to clinch or swing or break
am I better composed than my poetry simply because I accept without questioning
the formulas are lost the charge is lost the message is lost yet I still hope to discover myself
amnesia will remind me tomorrow of another item vanished but today I plotted out a future and nothing was missing
My backpack was stolen earlier this week and its contents included my notebook, my laptop, my dad's ashes and bunch of other loose materials. My first instinct was to release