"procedures" poems
i must give you a full physical exam
to fully grasp my prognosis and plan
of treatment for you... dont be afraid
i feel confident, no need to debate
i can satisfy
and gratify
your pre-dic-ament
in the richest succulent
as a specialist, to some degree
my healing hands work expertly
but to receive full and complete treatment
you must partake my honey rather frequent
for a better plan of action
i require a full body transfusion
a chemical mixture of center fuses
a delicate blending of our juices
this may require several procedures
over time it provides many features
healing properties of your most vital *****
however worth it, even if, it cost a fortune
to this a can guarantee success
but first you must fully undress
i work with energy transference
your help required for successful convergence
of the best possible results
between two consenting adults
bartering is certainly a viable option
for your long term medical condition
providing equal services for each other
helps maintain balance to one another
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 1:01 AM UTC
Babies, babies everywhere
Usually it's your opinion I share
We're too old, too tired, too busy
But the babies all around me are making me dizzy
I'm rational, realistic and levelheaded
It would be enough for me if we were just wedded
Barely in our forties, but our youth in the past
But I feel that the baby window is closing fast
We each have our own and have been down this road a time or two
But they're all growing up so fast, and I've never gotten to have one with you
Robbed of that chance, I feel like we missed out on what should've been our life, our destiny
But I feel blessed for the boys we have and I will be happy if that's all that's meant to be
Babies are loud and they're too expensive
And, truthfully, I really do like the way we live
So many obstacles stand in the way
A vasectomy, decreased fertility, how to pay
It all gets so technical and sterile and void of romance
I wonder if there is even the slightest chance
All the procedures we'd need to endure
So with this decision, we both must be sure
Will we regret it and wish we had chosen a different path
I don't want to end up in the poor house for not doing the math
I'm so busy, would a surrogate be the way to go
A nanny is fine for after, but with a surrogate, can a bond grow
Then there's the smell of their hair
That special bond that only you two share
The way they hold onto you as if you hold the key to their heart
The look of total terror in their eyes whenever you must part
A small piece of me and a small piece of you
Someone we create together, something we chose to do
The one we were supposed to have years ago
The dream that neither of us quite let go
Here we are, decades later, together again
Has too much time passed, too much life been
Or was it always meant to be this way, We're older and wiser and more ready today
It may never work and I need you to know, that I'm happy with just us if that's God's plan
But if this is possible and my last chance, then I know you are the perfect man
They'll all talk about us and say we're too old and crazy
But this is how I chose to tell you, I'd like to try to have your baby
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 1:52 AM UTC
Only the shadow
on the bed where I sit,
said Yiska,
through the blinds
I see the city
and its tall towers
and constant traffic
on the streets below,
and the park is busy
with people passing
or children at play.
I sit and wish
he was still here,
still here beside me,
his warmth and voice
breaking this dull
silence of depression,
this blanket of blackness,
this cloak of despair.
I cannot be bothered
to wash or shower or dress,
my eyes are full of sleep
and my hair a mess.
I slept last night
only because
of the prescription drugs
my doctor gave;
I slept badly even then,
listening to the arguing
neighbours just above:
she a lowly cow,
him a big boar
of fat meat.
I watch the clouds drift by,
the blue of sky,
the tall towers rigid,
the city evolving
day by day,
hour by hour;
the office will ring
to ask where I am,
and why I am not at work,
and if I am well,
and the voice will drone on
with its threats of procedures
and discipline,
and I shall not answer,
leave the phone off the hook,
my mobile turned to silent.
I miss him at night
and his hugs and kisses,
and gentle words of love
and promises.
But then he met her,
betrayed me as a lover
ought not,
and now he has gone,
and I am here in the semi-dark,
staring out at the view
of city and park
and the tall towers,
and another day
beyond my powers.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 6:37 AM UTC
Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard Afterlife Airlines.
I’m your pilot, Captain Meta Physics.
Please fasten your sleep belts
as we are about to leave the body.
Please direct your attention to your stewardess
while she demonstrates safety procedures.
In the event of a drastic reduction in karma,
a mask will fall down from above you.
Place it on and breathe deeply of pure love.
Should those passengers who are clinically dead
find themselves returned by a surgeon’s skill,
the life raft under your seat will inflate
with a new sense of purpose.
After take off the stewardesses will serve milk and honey.
For your entertainment, the movie is
anything with Shirley Maclaine in it
or there are seven channels of chi
on the chakra-phones being dispensed soon.
For those contemplating joining the Tantric Mile High club,
please be considerate of your fellow passengers.
We’re making good time because
the breath of God is always behind us.
Below us to the right is the Ocean of Ego
and to our left some passengers may glimpse
the chain of islands: Faith, Hope and Charity.
We’ve been advised that it’s a little busy on The Other Side
so we’ve been placed in a holding pattern
on the astral plane.
Passengers are reminded to retrieve all emotional baggage
for security reasons
and please help Customs
by declaring all religious preferences.
Ladies and gentlemen, we’re cleared for landing now.
On behalf of the crew, I hope you enjoyed
your transdimensional flight with Afterlife Airlines
and we hope to see you aboard again soon.
Please fasten your sleep belts,
we’re coming in for reincarnation.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
*i once had a girl from poland over,
gave her the tourism of london,
a daughter of my mother's friend.*
i suffered sun stroke one day out
with her, blonde hair and all,
i was bound to feel the cold shivers,
went to a party with a school-friend
of mine and her...
i was left in a bed shivering,
he later said he didn't want to say it
but did, that they kissed...
like i didn't know the shorthand for
oral ***
now i'm drinking a beer, write
one poem weeping, another like this
one laughing prior, slapping myself in
the cheek...
two slaps to the face i didn't receive
from prostitutes **** your moral
relativism, you people only
know that theft and ****** and ****
are equal in the cauldron of einstein's
space-and-time, i accept physical
relativism, but i loath moral relativism,
it's like giving an umbrella to the man
under a champagne waterfall -
and an anorak to a man under a waterfall
of cow **** -
yep, slaps outside the brothel,
the kind women became knights' sparring partners
for the oath undertaken,
it was a practice among knights to get
a handkerchief to ease the sting later...
but when prostitutes don't slap you
for trying to sort your life in order to provide,
you sort of become two knights,
twin siamese, you slap yourself because
all that st. thomas gospel wisdom went into
sex-augmentation procedures and cheap
cancer victims with pill-for-pill profiteering...
leisurely ladies of societies made rich
by easy money, watching operas
but still preferring to notice what
their neighbours were wearing,
the peasant snobism who are more distracted
by what others wear rather than the music...
a herd of wilder-beasts could ease out more tears
at an opera than these "precious" ladies of the new
post-aristocratic society of easy money...
you drink beer, laugh, slap yourself silly on the cheeks
for more laughter... your brain
becomes a monkey in a cage gone mad
rather than turning docile...
so she came over and enjoyed my company,
spotted a fox in an alley to a surprise...
but then i got rudely told that oral *** was a kiss...
well **** me there's a cataphract -
let's ***** slap him silly so no byzantine philosopher
cared to exist.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
I laughed in places
Where Laughter was not asked for,
In granite market towns
Beneath refugee palm trees shivering.
Running from giant hands
That were covered in car wash fluids,
The back of children's heads imprinted
On their palms.
I laughed during disciplinary procedures,
Before authority figures
With cornflakes in their red beards
And my laughter crept over the edges of their flowerbeds
And the grass laughed with me.
I laughed at funerals,
The sounds of horses beyond the churchyard
And a messenger ran down the aisle
panting and exhausted,
He had a message for my laughter
' Quick you must come at once'.
I laughed during marital feuds,
Laughter rising out of its own body
above broken guitars and dried up bonsai,
Above all the things I said
That contradict me now.
I laughed during serious films,
The tulips drooping on top of the T.V.
The sun slumped against the door,
Behind heavy curtains
I mistook for pigs on hooks.
I laughed over exercise books,
Above algebra and history
Behind impossible bra straps
That appeared out of acne and ink flicked backs.
I laughed at the swimming pool
Hiding birthmarks like stains,
Drowning above the water saying
'I am a fish I must get back in!'.
I laughed in surgeries among migraines
and told my mother that robots were taking over,
in the same rooms where they removed my brothers' verucas
And I saw the doctors small blade
escape through the window.
I laughed during friends confessions,
In between the silences of repeated songs
While pantomime dames walked past windows
make-up running in black and yellow rain.
I'm laughing while making coffee in a campervan,
I'm laughing because its a monday morning,
Because everyone else is busy,
Because we have an oil lamp from a pound-shop
Burning beneath the sound of rain on the roof,
Because the radio's silent…..
And because sausages are best done slowly.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
It is angel impact bullwhip vivid
Stampede fingers landscape obedient
Jail bust escape laughing run
Spillway thought stream fuzzy essence
UGG boot toe tubs and water stings
Earthquake tyrant Celsius fools
Pin lake petrol ice filled deserts
Spiky flames in outer space
Sculpture freak show withering exhibit
Fathom emergency breathe and ****
Nut shell gorillas invisibly cracked
Cow fed nirvana BBC
Shades of zero audio cauldron
Same vein madness virus mansion
Culinary horror infection procedures
Geyser rich nutrient pea-pod turmoil
Jul 18, 2018
Jul 18, 2018 at 3:38 AM UTC
resuming textual trip
testing experimental procedures
visualizing model tsunami
augmenting facetious environment
catching abstract architecture
noticing rhythmic exchange
projecting subtextual database
airhorning reggae royalty
adding atypical party
resolving twitter question
noticing emotional mission
awaiting emotional dialect
installing metaphorical experiment
intensifying animated trip
displaying dynamic victory
programming abstract development
releasing emotional exchange
deriving fata morgana
glorifying referential sequence
intensifying facetious map
noticing harmonic trip
observing radical ratio
compiling nomadic message
predating google rebranding
reticulating facetious panda
using hyperreal feedback
exploring virtual panda
speculating graphic gallery
throwing mundane exception
targeting graphic experiment
replenishing emotional trap
localizing asemic animal
dropping rhythmic trip
propagating immortal experiment
displaying lowercase database
invading orange bubbles
crashing animated trip
running conceptual topography
remembering collapsed buildings
crashing hyperreal coverage
propagating hyperreal stipulation
finishing western library
envisioning neon tessellation
reciprocating network likes
processing animated device
releasing haptic quality
examining building seven
awaiting rhapsodical ratio
sampling death sauce
sensing lowercase clone
examining symbolic tour
processing potential development
encapsulating spatial lottery
displaying digital paragraph
reticulating theoretical source
perpetuating western paragraph
transmitting monochromatic structure
anticipating ambient quality
transmitting asemic environment
intensifying atomic quality
remastering history poem
keeping future light
hypothesizing eternal game
using future library
rearranging masonic language
transmitting masonic development
continuing ceremonial ritual
questioning party's legitimacy
deferring western coverage
finishing asemic hypertext
mollifying ostentatious presence
synthesizing allegorical icon
forming categorical unions
sketching app wireframe
programming immortal repository
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 6:52 PM UTC
It seems that these days nothing is real
The world around me shimmers artificially
Women will have procedures done to fit into the world of plastic
Men find it more simple to use cheep tricks to get a night of love
People on the street dress to make the illusion of perfection
Little girls stuff their bra's and paint on geisha faces pretending to be grown up
The sad truth is that,
Nobody is genuine anymore
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
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Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 9:36 AM UTC
I was told to write down my identity
a neat sheet of paper
that would briefly explain me
I pondered a while
attempting to identify
a few key moments of my history
Do I tell of the immigrant?
or the miracle child?
do I speak of depression
and how I so rarely smiled?
Should I tell you about the language
I so rarely spoke
for fear of fitting a stereotype:
the terrorist trope.
Shall I explain hypomania?
and how I couldn't sleep?
and how the monsters I dreamt of
into my conscious peripheral would creep?
How I couldn't seek help
until I was almost twenty-one
because in my parents' culture
mental illness doesn't exist.
My parents were Palestenian refugees in Lebanon- but that's their story not mine, right? They were married for seventeen years before they had me. They tried to have children almost from day one- but that's their story not mine, right?
Finally they immigrated to Canada for a million procedures that would give them a baby. After six years of treatment, a random obscure procedure worked and I was a bun in the oven- but that's their story not mine, right?
nine months later I was born.
I was a miracle baby and the "light of their life." so they named me light: "Noor."
I was born at North York General with a priviledge my parents never dared dream: Canadian. Safe. Not a refugee. They had someplace that they'd send me for university.
With our new, safe nationality
at forty days old
I was taken to the UAE
I was raised on Western books
and Western TV
raised with ideas that just didn't fit
in a muslim family
(at least my family is liberal, unlike the UAE)
I haven't scratched the surface of who I am
and depending on the pieces I tell
I haven't scratched the surface of all that I could be
what I choose to write is how you will read me.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
there is a certain liminality to airplanes
even the ones now fixed to the ground,
all museum tours and rot held at bay,
for a while.
yearning for the strain of metal,
a voice calling out safety procedures
(don't tamper with or disable the smoke detector in the lavatory),
and someone who loves them to come back to brush
knowing hands, since gone to claws, over their instrument panels.
in the air there doesn't seem to be a good reason
for planes not to tilt,
tilt down inexorably,
till they kiss the earth again.
all crumpled aluminum and fire
and a small black box
to tell those we left on land
some of how it happened.
I can tell myself about physics and engineering,
about this being my second flight today,
and about how (if nothing else) I made it onto this plane.
the turbulence pays me no mind.
touching down, touching ground, it hesitates.
there's a ghost of movement still.
a waiting. a breath.
the rush of air and engines,
not gone so much as paused,
halted only for a moment.
I am a little afraid of flying
but I'm more afraid of moving on
moving past this moment,
all muscled grace and limbo,
a portion of earth held up in sky.
then we land and walk to baggage claim
while behind us the airplane-
the airplane holds.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:36 AM UTC
A voracious beast devours my Husband
Distraught and upset I must put on a strong face for him
Every day I watch him grow paler and more thin
At night my dreams are consumed with needles, prescriptions
IV tubing and bad food swirl in the mix
In his eyes I see an exhausted spirit on the edge
The need to protect is a driving force within me
Hospitals should be more sterile
HE HAS A ******* FAILURE OF THE BONE MARROW PEOPLE
The next school of medicine reject who doesn't wash their hands
Will have them cheerily burned off...by me
On the inside I seeth and cry, throw a child's tantrum on the floor
Unfair does not even begin to describe the pain he has endured
Some would say to let him go, **** you**
They just do not know us
For my exterior is made up of stone
Supported by a frame of steel
I will never give up
We have a will of iron
A malignancy has no control over our strength
Into the coming war of medical procedures we are defiant
Strong and Worthy
We will never give up
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 5:06 PM UTC
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Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 1:26 AM UTC
There's no point
in ensuring my safety.
For the world I've been
forced to dwell in
is a hazard to all.
Every choice I make
is inevitably a bad one.
So why should I take
procedures, and wrap myself
in a safety blanket.
Everything that's cherished
has been ripped away from me.
There's nothing
to look forward to.
So excuse me for not playing it safe.
I'll make the worst choices,
never think about anything that could go
wrong.
Because everything bad that could happen
already has.
I'll walk on hot coals with naked feet.
I'll stay underwater
for minutes too long.
I'll taste the sweet forbidden fruit
that is actually living.
Put the poisonous nectar
in my already dying body.
I'll get hazy and fade away
and let the worst people
do the best things to me.
Because I have absolutely nothing to lose.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
Medical Technologist you will be by next year,
As you do your best part then success is near.
Realization of your life's dream is not impossible,
Zealous dedication is what you do to make it possible.
Act now be a keen diligent intern to claim your victory!
Dawn has sparked so make the most of the opportunity,
Accept the challenges don't quit fight all the negativity.
Winning is not easy to achieve as it requires determination,
Nobody but yourself alone can justify for your own action.
Plan for your future and do it with the highest attention,
Insure that whatever outcome will help realize your ambition.
Zest you have will inspire you to perform well with integrity,
Allow no negative vibes to degrade your courage and dignity.
React professionally to whatever trials that may come your way,
On whatever duties you do always follow the protocol don't sway.
Be tactful in your actions follow laboratory protocols,
Read and understand fully the procedures before using the tools.
Avoid mistakes in running the tests so you won't give false results,
To the patient's doctor such act is a taboo and you will get insults.
On to your internship my darling do your best and make us all proud.
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 12:47 AM UTC
All estuaries flow eastbound, and the subterranean rail tracks keep forcing against the estuaries’ grain and dust foundations perpendicularly to them.
How can a sane proposition -- a quantification of syntax execution (those squirming cuticles through bonds of regression)— an excessive reflection, reflexive inspection,
Prove its sanity through continued suggestion?
Deductive insurrections stirred in memory,
A rumble, causing sediments to crumble,
Wineglasses balanced atop countertops tumble.
Spilling contents upon the grained wooden, elitists' floors.
"Anesthetic, onsetting tuberculosis in breath patterns,
Gavels ringing on rigged tolling tongs in caverns,
Dark tolerances to Copernican astronomy in shadows,
And the handle grinds as boxcar wheels' flints and steels catch and spark in addled locks," I mumbled from a half-nap.
It was surgery, the smooth procedures on the moving trains,
The gains and plectrums scraped against the brains' spider veins,
To reorganize the sane, to bridge the broken definitions changed,
To prevent arguments' bone structure from fractures and sprains.
"Use gavels against the scalpels, sculpt with their judgment," a corona dream's habitant corrugated.
He pounded the gavel's end against the knife to chisel at the pituitary gland pulsing in his subject,
And her arms flailed like a horse's legs in heat-induced convulsion.
I thought it was done.
The Canson Merue train screamed in the night under earth to Yellowknife to meet Canadian soil as the Heavy Breather pounded his gavel.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
Sometimes, I don't know what is the problem of my so called colleagues... There are so many issues worth tackling in the movie industry where as a movie maker u invest so much finance, time and energy and get back very little or nothing... Yet, what concerns our youths is celebrations, parties, function attendance and all... The so called movie ambassadors came up at the period of political campaign... Will this gathering still stand after they are bn used for political campaigns... That's a question that I'm sure can't b answered... D crazy aspect, s dt every name now goes first with Ambassador lagbaja or Ambassador tamedu... So crazy.... Rebranding starts from our selves... No group whatsoever, has d power to influence a corrupt, mis-managed, malfunctioning industry that needs urgent attention... I'm surprised to even find respected movie makers sleeping and putting heads in same direction... If we want to speak in one voice, I believe... There's an existing body, when d music sector got its branding and uplifted its current face to d very level its today, D's were not d measures and procedures takn.... Even in Hollywood, I have nvr heard of Ambassador Nicolas Cage, Ambassador Angelina Jolie etc... Neither in bollyhood have I heard of Ambassador Shakiru Khan or Ambassador John Abraham. What a pity..., even the newly experienced movie makers that doesn't even know what D's game is all about bear Ambassadors... I hear, there's fine for misbehaviour at events and all... Hmmmmmm, those that have sumfn upstairs, let them start thinking... Don't b used for sumfn that u will end up not benefitting and later b d glory of sum people that knows where this is going and the aim behind it.... However, if the motive is truly for d upliftment of D's great job that we all do with great passion... God help us all.... Tokunbo Awoga
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
in the quest to look younger
women have face lifts
the nips and tucks
along with those Botox injections
all in the name of beauties perfection
but after a few years
the procedures
are repeated
to give the aging dames
that perfection
once again
a recent photo of a mature celebrity
featured in a magazine
her face resembled
that of a cat
restoring one's face to a youthful glow
isn't always the prettiest of shows
the cosmetic surgeons
are making a motza
for a face lift
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
It felt like growth to me at the time,
Like I had taken a step forward to evolve into a better and more sophisticated man
And maybe I had
I had
What I did not know at the time was that sophistication wasn't the goal, only simplicity can carry you through your days with the easy graceful demeanor we all aspire to maintain
I laid in bed, staring at the textured spots on my ceiling wondering if I would ever be the same,
If I could ever carry myself with the dignity I thought I possessed
Colors sang out carrying a tune to the bass line strummed by the darkness
The sound of my distraught shrieks tasted like ash leaving my mouth
The blankets writhed violently around my neck and torso
I heard a booming voice ringing from the Zenith of the universe
He reaffirmed all my self-doubts, all my worries, all my mortal nightmares
He was adamant that my death and all those who surround me was imminent
He spoke to me of things my feeble human mind could not comprehend
Then he left me in a cold sweat to slumber in agony
I woke the next morning with a scar across my chest
Not an open laceration, but a fully healed scar that looked as if it had taken procedures and months to close
The scar remains and all my insignificant and worthless brain could take away from the booming ambiguous voice became simpler and simpler
No moment but now; no day but today
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 5:32 PM UTC
We institute procedures as a tool to obtain substance.
We design metrics as a tool to track and ensure that substance is obtained.
But then, the tool becomes holier than its own purpose.
When we value procedure over substance,
we sacrifice substance for procedure.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 11:48 AM UTC
Dedicated to the Hard Hats, ..for holding it all together.
**** frost on the green grass
There's a cold moon in the sky
The estuary waters black and calm
Where golden ripples lie.
Dawn's horizon lightens up
Bright stars begin to dim
Hard Hats all arrive for work
And with frozen breath...log in.
Work boots crunching on the stone
The men disperse to trucks,
The diesel motors roar to life
Their departures forming rucks.
Swarming in the morning light
Each to his own job's task,
Bridge building work underway
As dawn's first sunbeams bask.
Amazing the complexity
That building bridges has,
Amazing how voraciously
It eats up time and gas.
The planning and design work
The funding of supply,
Those organizational matters
And the labour standing bye.
Digging, lifting, shoving, shifting
Moving this to there,
A logistical nightmare
For the novice, unaware.
Steel and timber by the ton
Concrete pours en mass,
Gravel, sand and aggregate
And reservoirs of gas.
Procurement of supply ensures
A smooth transitional flow
Of successive small procedures
To make the project mesh and grow.
Day after day the massive trucks
Carting tons of sand
Are authorized by gate men
To unload on to land
Where motorway construction
Is steadfastly taking place
And progressing at
A gradual and steady building pace.
From concept to completion
A million multitasks,
Which involves a caste of thousands
And a schedule which asks,
That the finished installation
Be completed by the time
Of the Rugby World Cup kickoff,
Our global status on the line.
Like ants the Hard Hats swarm about
Each does his little bit
And gradually, over time,
The bridge emerges from the pit.
It emergeth like a phoenix
In a drab and sombre gown
But on completion, shines like fire
To be the nation's most re known.
The Manukau Harbour Crossing
A project for the Gods,
Of massive lengths of concrete
And miles of reinforcing rods.
Of an eternity of effort
From everyone involved
And an asset for New Zealand
And a beauty to behold.
Marshalg
@theGate
MHX
Mangere Bridge
14th March 2009
Please view the following link
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VzQZ-M90Zig
Nov 14, 2009
Nov 14, 2009 at 1:07 PM UTC
I realize now,
the futility of
forgiveness
we all want a clean slate,
the washing away of our sins,
but in the end:
we are never clean
you can paint over it,
or wear costumes,
or even spend millions
on special procedures
but it’s all just mask
we live with what’ve done,
each day, we must face the
man we used to be, and the
implications that man has
on the one we are now
(and that’s all that matters)
you can mix in new colors,
but never get rid of the old
ones
that is futility of forgiveness:
we cannot wash away the sins,
cannot wipe the slate clean,
the only solitude is forgetting,
and that, in itself, is flawed
(for the moment comes
when all those memories
come flooding back in)
but we carry on
forgetting or forgiving ourselves
(whatever seems better to you)
and trying to make ourselves
presentable
even with the
knowledge of our past
and future mistakes
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC