open wounds tear through my flesh,
dead weight fills up my heart's pericardium,
darkness of sorrow slowly consumes my soul,
a habit of relentless grieving of the unforgotten.
there's a tombstone in my head,
in a graveyard of old memories and undead people,
not quite fancy, but once in a while
I sit beside it with a mug of coffee and anxiety.
I talk to it as if it were alive,
sometimes as if I hope it would talk back
and take off the dead weight and misery in my heart,
I grieve for the gone yet undead people whom I deeply loved.
sometimes I would bring some kerosene and match,
hoping to scorch down the place to ease all the pain,
but I am human; I exist, I love, I feel, and I remember
I may grieve of the unforgotten today, but I will live.
IA
