"madder" poems
there are bones between my teeth
moonlight glimmering in my eyes
dried blood in my nails, in my hair
my head pounding (thump. thump. thump.)
you know they say blood is thicker than water but that just means blood is more likely to stick in my throat
coughing up family ties one by one
glistening red memories, leaving only a metallic aftertaste
sick nightmare fantasy of ripping open bodies
im the monster in your fairytale stories
lets do a bit of editing, perhaps?
lets shred the whole **** book, perhaps?
lets set fire to the town, perhaps?
im tired of pretending to be your precious child, perfect student, "the innocent one"
i want to paint obscene material in your blood (in the name of art, of course)
@god do you ever feel unreal? are you even real? am i?
no i have to be real, I can feel the blood dripping down my arm, the bones cracking in my spine
im real. im real. im real.
everything hurts!!!!! fuCK i cant wait to rip you all to shreds !!!!!!
T H I S I S N O T A D R E A M
walking on eggshells is far more difficult with digitigrade legs, im not gonna try to be nice anymore
i dont need to be nice anymore
why be nice when you can **** why just **** when you can slaughter?
nobody can stop me from lighting up the post office,
nobody can stop me from gouging out your eyes
im no god but im closer than you
im no angel but you might be soon
close your blinds, lock your doors
big bad wolf is back again
bigger, badder, better wolf
greater, darker, madder wolf
teeth like knives and claws like daggers
six golden eyes staring into your soul
oh right, thats me!
i m i n y o u r h o m e
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:10 AM UTC
my cousin liked to have breakfast
at an open air café, with his fiancée, on Fridays
the owner knew she loved French breads, having
been schooled at the Sorbonne
the bakery made them at his behest
he would tell his staff to keep one for her
and to bring a bag when served;
she always saved half for later
rush hour was madder than usual
that night, until the bombs blasted
and brought the synovial silence that comes
in the wake of wondering, what
has happened?
the sirens screamed soon enough
and my cousin smelled the smoke
cordite, yes, but burnt baklava,
Maamoul as well
his fiancée came to him that night
watched and waited to hear if anyone they knew
was lost, their hands clasped tight, breaths shallow,
in the languid hush after the city slowed
to its mournful rest
the sun rose, the skies clear, crisp, to their surprise,
and they went to the café, where the owner apologized
for the wicked, wicked world, and for not having baguettes
after the bakery died
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 4:46 PM UTC
Put me to sleep
I says put me back to sleep
and lock the door
I got some place to be
Got someones to see.
You can't understand
You surely can't understand
I needs to dream my same dream
I needs to dream my same dream I says
This old life does me no good
My eyes, they need to be closed I says.
Finds me a woman I met sometime last night
No madder how I tell it,
You can't understand this thang I know fo' certain.
I says put me back to sleep
I says put me back to sleep
Can't you see
I got some place to be
Got someones to see
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 10:49 AM UTC
The wolves did not just stalk quietly through cadmium woods.
Their teeth grew madder and rose from each others throats.
The tigers did not just sleep on mossy slopes,
they colored the afternoon fushia and indigo from caladon heights,
The dragon with its terrible emerald tail and ruby glare,
did not merely threaten to incinerate everything around it.
Spiders prepare a grave.
This thing in a binding tomb.
A multitude of flames, a million orange and blue....
Tears cremating the past.
A burning snow falling everywhere.
When the darkest angel of all, sits at last upon my chest,
permanently enfolding me in its radiant wings....
A creature without a voice,
A voice without a name.
As immortal as mi life,
come here at long last to summon the wind.
© Crystal Erickson
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 11:01 AM UTC
And how can
one go mad
Buttercup,
when one is already
crazier than a loon?
Does one get madder
through self-indulgence?
Pray tell me please,
put my mind at ease,
Buttercup.
Should I drink
a whole bottle of mezcal,
burn an ounce of herb or
snort a mountain of flake?
Oh, I do ache, Buttercup!
But should I
buy a Hummer,
spend my money
on frivolous things,
like endless raindrops?
Oh Buttercup,
how do you
keep your pain
in check?
Through
these
restless situations?
I think
methinks
not.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
Sere and yellow,
Rough and round, [bright pebbles in a mound]
Pitted and mellow,
Winding our necks round,
We wore them.
Amber beads unearthed from clay,
Fashioned by my artist love,
Glowing yellow, filled with day,
Captures sunbeams from above.
I still love them.
Some say gods have made these,
To ensnare the light of Sun,
But we women saved these,
In memory & hope of sons,
We keep them.
Fat & smooth as butter,
We turned them in our hands.
The bone beads scraped with madder,
The amber just with sand.
Those of shadowy carnelian
Embedded like a shield,
We treasure as we fear them,
Like wounds on battlefields.
The others soaked with brownish earth,
Sere and yellow,
Rough and round, [bright pebbles in a mound]
Pitted and mellow,
Winding our necks round,
We wore them.
So, when we are dead, take not from us,
These rounded, golden suns,
But bury them with us, with sword and severed buss,
To revere the slaughtered ones,
Who never returned to us.
Revised November 15, 2016
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 8:55 AM UTC
111
The Bee is not afraid of me.
I know the Butterfly.
The pretty people in the Woods
Receive me cordially—
The Brooks laugh louder when I come—
The Breezes madder play;
Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,
Wherefore, Oh Summer’s Day?
3.3k
If its fireworks you want then you shall have it
And if its kiss's you want then you shall have that too
you deserve all the best in this ******* world
Just as mush as I do baby girl.
I'm holding on and I'm never letting you go
So believe in me and believe in yourself
Just let the past go and only let your mind flow
Yes! The flowers will grow.
Just know that I'm here for you and I will always be
No madder what you do in this crazy *** world
I just want you to be you that's all
And for a truth I will always hold you
And carrie you even when your not broken
And If we ever get lost in the sauce I will save you
Just as long as you remember our first duel of love
Like it was just a one-night dream
Forever your soul shall rest in peace
With my memory in your head
So take it in and taste it
Its Yummy right , Yes I know
Bright red, yellow and black fireworks are blooming across the sky
I can see it all
As we are looking at each other back and fourth with the argue to kiss one another
Its Beautiful, so soft , tasty I couldn't never forget you baby
Your like fireworks and kiss's when you smile so pretty
And I swear every time you kiss me its
like fireworks in the city & every
moment that we spend together and your in my arms its like
your the only one in this entire world that truly understands me the most.
In a world of different sounds,
Of loud and quiet
As if fireworks and kiss's were mented
To last forever,
And ever.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 10:20 PM UTC
The Intersection
of Interruption and Intermission.
Act 2 has been delayed.
We will come right back
After a word from our sponsors.
Remember when
Remember when meant
More than just a week ago?
When the hill was only
30 years high,
And still,
nothing held the urgency
that seems to permeate
our every desperate action.
I swear we had time, then,
It seems,
So much more than
Aging naturally eats away.
But the multitudes
have multiplied,
as they are want to,
And as the telegraph cables
Come down for corridors of Light,
The speed of time Grows,
Relatively accordingly.
And so, the second part
Of this two part play
Starts 10 years later,
while we dash madder than ever,
racing each other,
to first summit the Crisis Peak.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
Sven and Olie died and went to Hell. After awhile, the Devil came by to see how his new guests were doing. To his amazement, he found Sven and Olie were still wearing their winter gear and seemed to be quite comfortable. The Devil asked why they weren't hot.
Olie replied, "We come from Minnesota where it's always cold. This is feeling pretty good to us." This upset the Devil, so he turned up the thermostat. Awhile later the Devil looked in again on Sven and Olie. To his surprise he found they were still wearing their winter gear. The Devil questioned them on it again. "You have to remember that we are from Minnesota and it's very, very cold there. This is feeling nice to us."
The Devil was even madder at this, so he turned the thermostat all the way up to maximum temperature. The Devil waited some time and then went back to Sven and Olie. This time he found they had only unzipped their coats, but still had all their winter clothes on. The Devil couldn't understand what was going on. The punishment down here was supposed to be the unbearable heat. It wasn't working on these two. He had to ask again what the deal was. Sven replied, "We are Minnesotans and we just got over a freezing winter. This is really great for Olie and Me.
A light flickered in the Devil's mind. He went to the thermostat and turned it off. He thought if the heat wasn't a punishment, maybe he'd give them some freezing temperatures. A little while later the Devil came back to check in on Sven and Olie only to find them cheering and giving each other high fives, happier than ever! The Devil questioned them on their actions and Sven said happily, "Back home they always said, the Vikings will win the Super Bowl when Hell freezes over!!!"
source: http://www.jokebuddha.com/Minnesota#ixzz3Ge5tdz3A
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
~
*Here is an assertion
and showiness
in the expanse
of white skin – from her
high forehead,
down her graceful neck,
shoulders, and arms.
Although the black
of her dress is bold,
it is also deep, recessive,
and mysterious.
He stalks her
as one does a deer,
his palette composed of
lead white, rose madder,
vermilion, viridian,
and bone black.
A dash of light rose
over the former
gloomy background,
you see, and
the élancée figure
shows to much
greater advantage.
Her body boldly
faces forward while
her head is turned in profile.
A profile of both
assertion and retreat.
The table provides support,
and echoes her
curves and stance.
One strap of her gown
has fallen down
her right shoulder,
suggesting the possibility
of further revelation;
one more struggle
and the lady will be free.
Everything converges to
imply a distant sexuality
under the professional
control of the sitter,
rather than offered for
the viewer's delectation.
Her untamed wilderness
remains unseen.*
~
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 9:59 AM UTC
1.
there once was a poem
who climbed into a paper boat
and sailed on to the moon
not a moment too soon
for they came to lock the sun away!
2.
best not mount this whippy one
rock-a-billy wild carriage
ride me to the city's end
don't drive me round the bend
we can always try a bold bovary-move!
3.
look into the fire and sing a song
about the lonely, tarrying sea
oh sailor, make it sweet
then I'll put it up on tweet
and nary mind; make your children's lullaby.
4.
I gives ya posies bright and gay
come sit by me...closer, dear
she smells, then sneezes
oh, he didn't know how to please her
her floral allergies packed him off for good.
5.
there was a lazy man from Shadder
who said 'twas too cold to empty his bladder
so, he sent it a-walkies
off alone to the loo
well, it just drove his wife madder!
S T, 30 June 2013
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
**They call me a canker,
they say I'm deceptive,
with an absinthe in my hand,
They call me a cahoot,
Abandoned in an abattoir,
They made me a psychopath,
They hurt me and beat me,
With all they had,
I said I am what I am,
They say am possesed,
With black magic,perhaps,
or maybe just a dark spirit,
So collapsed,
They say I look daunting,
Someone who's flummoxed,
Someone who's forlorn,
And a little hoodlum,
but i simply can't make them understand,
I am a labyrinth,
Full of difficult,
passages and paths,
Through which finding out is complicated,
I've had macabres,
which i handled by machetes,
The madder i got,
The smarter they,fed it,
With heaves of sickness,
they got me misspelt,
They didn't know that,
I, a psychopath,
was "okay" in my own way,
they mistreated me,
Misplaced me,
Misunderstood me,
Underestimated me,**
Look! I've come up!
still they were they,
They didn't stop,
So I cut them,
And beat them,
And scared their crap out!
Hit me with a dagger,
Hit me with a knife,
I'LL STILL BE ME,
EVEN IN MY NEXT LIFE.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
[The title translates, from the Latin, as
'I am no more the man I was in the reign of the Good Cynara']
2.3k
one undead sed to one too undead: "id **** for a romancer whos a necromancer."
Well, abracadabra with just an ounce of my magic
i produce half a cadavre and then the other half grab it and shake it until it blabbers:
"well im awake but id rather be underground with dead matter."
and though ive never been sadder i had to grab her and stab her a thousand times in such patterns
that all was left were mere tatters, talk about beaten and battered as all the pieces were scattered
(i made em smaller and flatter til they looked good so i blabbered):
"you look amazing"- "im flattered"
she sed but that didnt matter. im just a ****** whos madder than Hell oh well whats it matter
the feelings of a mad hatter madder than other mad hatters collaboratively dont matter
in fact the maddest just happens to have had all his dreams shattered.
evacuate bowels and bladder. souls eaten, demons get fatter, eternal state of dead palar,
dying in Hell, almost had her. god ****
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 3:59 AM UTC
A repost:
A Roman poem written before The birth of Christ, inspired the title Gone With The wind
with Scarlett and Rhett Butler
But here you see only old
confessions of a man's true love for his beloved who is all gone
-Or-
(Or a woman's true love for
her beloved runner wishing she could have chased.)
~~~
CYNAR*A.
~~~~~
Last night yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! Thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was grey:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I have forgot much, Cynara! Gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! The night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.
~~~~~~~
By:Ernest Dowson
For:RhettlvScarlet.
to honor Karijinbba
in her great loss and healing
of her memory chip.
~~~~~~
Copy Rights.
~~~~
Ernest Dowson (1867-1900) died of alcoholism at the age of 32. His downward spiral began at age 23 when he fell for an 11 year old girl who would spurn him at 14 when he proposed marriage.
The following year, in 1894 his father died from an overdose. Dowson's mother
hanged herself within a year of her husband's death.
Soon after this dual tragedy Dowson left for France before returning back to England in 1897. Curiously he lived with the family of his unrequited love. Penniless, heartbroken and filling the empty voids in his life with alcohol, Dowson would spend the last six weeks of his life in the cottage of the Oscar Wilde biographer Robert Sherard who had found him
drunk in a bar.
Speaking of Oscar Wilde, he wrote after Dowson's death of a,"Poor wounded wonderful fellow that he was, a tragic reproduction of all tragic poetry, like a symbol, or a scene.
I hope bay leaves will be laid on his tomb and rue and myrtle too for he knew what true love
unrequieted love was."
~~~~~
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 12:44 AM UTC
Mad politicians threaten nuclear war
While madder religious maniacs
Send suicide bombers to **** and destroy.
Bombers brainwashed into believing
That vestal virgins await them in heaven.
Children starve
While adults fight
For bits of land.
A world divided.
Plagued by hate and distrust.
Governments killing their own people
Except when tied by nameless bureaucrats.
Forests and wildlife being cleared away
For the sake of gold or drugs
Or other means of making Money.
It’s a mad, mad world.
In which everyone is born to die.
What use is that?
Perhaps already we are living in
Hell.
Just Saying.
Paul Butters
(C) PB 1\5\2017. 2 new lines added 8\5\17.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 9:02 AM UTC
I write these songs I'll never sing
Walk like I'm the ******* queen
Don't give a **** 'bout anything
Boy you were so mean to me
But that's okay 'cause this ain't love
Never will be, never was
I'm sure you didn't mean to give me hope
But that's alright because I'm over it
I'm over you, over me,
Over whatever the **** we were supposed to be
And I'm left here alone with my thoughts again
Neither a prayer nor a friend
To talk this out and lay to rest
And this bed is so much colder now
Despite you never being in it
I just feel the potential, overwhelming
Took my body, not my heart
Not like I had one for you to take in the first place
I hate your face, but I love the way you used me
Called me over, ****** me up
Physically bruised me
Guess you couldn't really even lose me
I was never yours, just a lonely girl with hours to spend
In a practically stranger's bed
And now I'm left alone with my thoughts again
Nothing I say ever makes sense
And you sensed that in me
Detached from me
On a mad quest for not my mind, my body
Senses intermixed - boy you wish
But you were just a short term solution to a long term problem
My mind's got pollution, need a potion just to fix it
Drink away my sorrows - don't even got a fake
But the smile on my painted face is fake enough to convince poor ******* like you to
Get me a drink
Give me a dance
Send me a wink
For a night
Same time next week, I'll be on the floor in tears
My vision going weak
'Cause no matter how hard I act like it don't matter
I find myself getting madder and madder
Walking right under the ladders
'Cause my life couldn't get sadder
And I know someday I'll really be over you - you being the one night stands -
When I'm twenty-two and respected with love from a man not a boy
You couldn't break my heart if it never was beating
And the feeling in my mind is that my patience is depleting -
Like the battery on my cell I stare at for, well, ten hours a day
Just trying to find a way to say I never cared about you anyway
I would if I could
You were never any good
Got my number in your contacts
Won't ever text me back
So I'm jaded and alone
Because you won't pick up that phone
I know I will never love you, just thought the things you said were true
About sticking around
And not letting me down
Like all those other people I've had to kick to the ground
Oh well, I guess closure's overrated
And in the end I'll never make it
Just a girl with a pen and a ****** up head
Staring her shadow down through the night
In her cold and empty bed
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC
the vastness of an empty soul
demystifies the Grand Canyon
and shrinks the universe
to microscopic molecules
barely able to manipulate energy
matter that doesn’t matter
madder than a hare in March
balance skewed
undue pressure
seasonal disfunction disorder
ordering medication
naturalization
seeking citizenship
in an isolation township
serving only self-pity
to the self-destructive –
squatting, gargoyle
surveyor on the job
soaking in the loathing
basking in the glow
caused by the discontent of others
opioid android locked in the void
unemployed
laughing at misery
in mercy centers
meticulously mimicking the miscreants
impersonating pain
seeking to blend –
ostracized miser in designer jeans
obscene in drag queen regalia
“whiskers from under his pancake make-up”
wake-up Godiva, locate the paraphernalia
mammalian musculature
hide the heart of a snake
as she slithers across the floor
searching for the perfect surfactant
….her scaly skin itches, uncomfortably
tearing my lip skin
in the din
of her poorly lit closet –
together in terror, the admission seems worth the cost
lost in the sweet melody
of sobbing children
and clattering dishes
shattered visions
misgivings
estrangement entangled with commitment
obligations
oblivion and orange peals
appealing to a higher power
unanswered questions hover inconsequential
adding to the ozone depletion
and altered climate
owning blame
for all the world and her problems
I sit with shoulders slumped –
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
This carpet - a Turkish Smyrna -
is made with Gordian knots,
tied by the fine fingers of a child
tied to a loom
by a thin, pale leg.
Every centimetre - a hundred knots
This carpet - two and a half million knots
all Gordian
tied tightly
by the fine fingers of a child.
Each thread is dyed
with plants
picked by nomad hands
from shifting lands
Henna oranges and Madder reds
Saffron yellows and Indigo blues
Colours bloom and fade
with the change of seasons.
Patterns are centuries old,
never drawn or sketched,
only sung to the young
by the old blind weavers,
who walk the workshops
and the aisles of looms.
In this shadow world
of soured and fetid air
dreamless children
live threadbare under a black sun.
Wide borders holding everything in place
no figures or stories, just a labyrinth
of abstract shape and colour
drawing you in to the treasure
at the centre of the rug.
And the knowledge of the knots
the Gordion knots
tied by the fine fingers of a child
tied to a loom
by a thin, pale leg.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 12:07 PM UTC
you remind me of the evening thunderstorms: cold, terrifying, yet so beautiful. when i said that your smile radiates joy, i wasn't exaggerating. when i whispered that the touch of your hand warms my heart, i meant it from my deepest palace of mind. the thought of you alone is enough to make my body tremble for i cannot cope with so much feelings. i'm craving for you yet my heartbeat always goes faster every time i think of being close to someone other than myself. i am eager for the sense of your skin against mine but i still can't get rid of these metals that locked my heart out for you. i want to say that i'm madly in love but i don't know if i can be madder than i already am. being with you is like cutting my own body parts into pieces; it hurts so bad but it's much better than being alive and numb. i wish i could take it easy like the detectives when they solve problems but my problem is you and you are nothing but a bunch of puzzle pieces that confuse me all the time. i really wish things weren't so complicated inside this forest in my head.
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
You know what i'm tired of?
I'm tired of mental abuse..
No one understands, cause no one ever sees.. There a no visible scars, no proof, and no one has seen.
I am a target of angry outbursts and sarcasm.
It piles up on me, day after day, month after month.
"You just wanna make me look bad!" He tells me
"You brought it on yourself" he laughs
"I treat you like you deserve to be treated!"
"For a smart person you're really dumb"
"Your friends will start to hate you"
And when i say i've had enough..
"You make me madder than anyone ever has!"
"You're such a liar!"
"You're so ******* selfish! You think the world revolves around you"
"That's not what you said, did or felt."
"You just try to make me look bad"
"I didn't attack you! Your mind is really messed up for thinking that"
"You are welcome to leave at any point. There's the door"
-i'm sorry daddy-
"I have your best interests at heart, if you would just listen to me more.."
"I can't stand to look at you right now.."
"You'll never change"
-yes daddy-
When my brother asks me why i'm crying
"Your sister is crying cause she knows she did something wrong"
-i'm sorry i dropped the cup of coffe on the floor-
"You've got to be ******* kidding me!"
"You will be the death of me!"
"You had to mess things up again didn't you?"
-sorry Daddy-
"Too late, i'm done with you never thinking!.."
"This is all your fault!"
I hate how i can't do something without instantly thinking -was that okay?-
"How dare you eat that taco without asking!"
"You just keep pishing my buttons!"
"This is YOUR issue!"
"You can't do anything right!"
"You need to be careful in how you respond to me"
But the ones that hurt the most..
"The house is peacefull when you're gone"
"We can't sleep when we know you'll be home soon"
"You'll never change"
I try my best.. And i can't just leave, cause i still love him.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
Mistake.
A miss taken.
A misstep taken.
A misstep is all it takes.
A misstep takes it all.
Take a misstep, all breaks.
A misstep is all it takes to break.
A misstep is all it takes to break your spirit.
Do you know the feeling
of adding onto a mistake?
Switching, twisting, making it more appealing,
but no matter what you make,
what it used to be leaves an imprint on the paper.
Black on white.
Wrong on right.
Don’t you wish it wasn’t so?
But you can’t delete your save data, like in some game.
You can’t just start over, blank slate, new avatar, new name.
The system will never forget;
On that, you can place your bet.
And in case you’re wondering why...
Regret.
Like a whirlpool out of control,
like a rampant snowball,
runaway, amassing all
intrusive memories it can gather,
moments and details you would rather
forget, but the fact that you remember makes you madder!
And it is as such with all matter.
Mistakes leave a stain
on your brain.
Wipe the muck?
No such luck.
Because that’s not how the world works, you see?
The way of the universe is entropy.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC