Memories are a potent, and cruel existence.
You want to smile, you'd like to think of the flutter in your chest, the feeling of joy covering your eyes.
But memories are full of melancholy and odium.
They remind you of the years you've breathed, they remind you of the things you've seen
They cling to your eyelids like stained blood.
We all have the memories, such sanguine feelings they carry.
But is such, worth the daggers prickling at your eyes?
Are they worth, the engraving pain that trickles down your spine?
I am a reminder. I am your pain. I am your joy.
Blink.
Maybe you'll see me.
-Dakota R. McIvor
May 27, 2013
May 27, 2013 at 4:19 PM UTC
Memories are a potent, and cruel existence.
You want to smile, you'd like to think of the flutter in your chest, the feeling of joy covering your eyes.
But memories are full of melancholy and odium.
They remind you of the years you've breathed, they remind you of the things you've seen
They cling to your eyelids like stained blood.
We all have the memories, such sanguine feelings they carry.
But is such, worth the daggers prickling at your eyes?
Are they worth, the engraving pain that trickles down your spine?
I am a reminder. I am your pain. I am your joy.
Blink.
Maybe you'll see me.
-Dakota R. McIvor