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there's nothing left for me to do,
I'm just a nobody to everybody,
with me they are done & through, already gone & deleted
from their human minds,

like a recording that's gone before rewind,
nothing but their trash,
after it's burned down to ash,
like ashes to dust,
I'm still scattered here & there,
still just making a mess.
2 Corinthians 5:8
We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.
Romans 14:8
If we live, we live for the Lord; and if we die, we die for the Lord. So, whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord.
Aaron E Sep 2019
Is it... Irony?
My life is language
and I have no words for you.

Erasing each little quip
before it reaches my lip
only echoes

A thousand lines for you.

The precedent muse,
and you won't see them
even if written
you won't see them

I feel defeated

By myself and my hands
by my words
with which the short line spans

I feel deleted


As if it's my defeat to posess.
As if the story is in reference to me.

But it was ours
and now it's not.

You won't see it.
The words won't rhyme,
because it's not our song anymore.

It's a memory
Fading into the background
Frequencies slowly dying out
against the scenery
as our ears get too old to hear them.

We'll remember differently every time
we think of it again.
Until it's different again.
Over and over,
until the echoes are a whole new chorus.

A different memory.
And the spark will be dead again.
In another new way.

I'll always be sorry.
Then I'll remember it
and type it, and delete it.

And we'll forget it, but we won't.
We'll hear the echoes
and won't have the words.

sushii Oct 2018
sometimes i wonder
if i could wipe all the memory,
just to get revenge
for all the times they deleted me.

sometimes i wonder
if i could unplug
and upload,
so that they would never see me.

sometimes i wonder
how they would start to forget me,
once the disk stopped turning.

but would them forgetting
be their revenge on me?
Cloak Oct 2017
Last Night I Deleted a Handful Of Poems
Now Where Are They?
Gone Forever?
Discarded Quill and Feather?
They're In My Head..
It Fills Me With Dread...
No Matter How Hard I Try...
Deleted Words
Don't Delete From The Mind...
I went on to destroy my journal of work... Burned it because all it was is a journal full or memories and torment..
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