I fear the words left behind,
I fear the wrongs left to right,
I hate the lies left from my kind,
I hate the days beyond the night.
More so than this, I can’t describe,
The life which died before my scribe.
Beyond the days that disappear,
Beyond all natural things I fear,
I can’t explain what can’t be known,
For it just wasn’t left to be shown.

this is neither the parting of seas nor the creation of islands

this is neither a blink nor a fever-induced sleep

this is neither the cry of a lover nor the weep of a sinner and trust me, they're both going to pray at some point.

this is the halfway mark of a poet who's running out of things she can and  cannot say.

empty journals are white flags.

The memory is unbearable
I cringe as it rises from
my subconscious; haunting me
It plagues my mind
I need to find a distraction

Write, write, write, write
Stapling papers drawing forms;
Archiving documents.
I get on my 20 n get time alone.
The memory creeps up,
I can feel it as my mood keeps changing.

Distraction distraction distraction
Look at the cars speeding down the streets
The couples huddled close for warmth
Hmmm that's could have been us

*******

Your memory is creeping in
Everything I see reminds me of thee.

*You can only distract yourself for so long before you have to face the truth