Memories are written
In ink that never dries.
We recraft and remold them
To help us all get by.
Some of the things that you remember
Are just a bunch of lies.
Sometimes I start a poem
But then my interest dies.
I think, "what's the point"
If the truth has been excised?
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 7:02 PM UTC
Memories are written
In ink that never dries.
We recraft and remold them
To help us all get by.
Some of the things that you remember
Are just a bunch of lies.
Sometimes I start a poem
But then my interest dies.
I think, "what's the point"
If the truth has been excised?
Request permission to use this poem