I think I really am dying
Where there was once a vibrancy,
In the first name that I wouldn’t remember anymore,
Winds that only whisper it still **** its flame,
And still, everything's the same,
Perhaps: something important collects dust in a drawer.
But I guess I was just in love with the day,
And by elimination, not the person.
I absolutely adored the rays of the sun,
the green leaves on the trees and tall grass by the path.
So I guess 1+1=0, according to the aftermath,
and taking one away from itself ends with none.
And that right there just might be how I passed the time,
By distracting myself from framing pictures with no captions.
Now I can clearly remember the day,
the now anonymous smiles and warm open skies,
The breezes long sought for, the figureless eyes,
Now all I'm capable of remembering is the day.
Forcefully ejected into space, those other memories
Of course, I still have them, but of course
If I were so forgetful, my words would be
For I can reject the details and the poison,
but I just can't reject how they made me
a more modern, slightly more angsty approach to jotting thoughts down.
mainly scrambled thoughts, but I hope to try some newer things soon.
I'm interested in storytelling in short poetry, so if anyone would like to chat (also for any reason whatsoever of course) to discuss their experiences with that I'd be more than ecstatic!! :)