Thursday, 17 December 2015

End

The memory of you comes to mind
And I feel the immediate urge
To shower you off my skin
Instantly trapped and stained
And try to find a way
To vacuum whatever is left of you
Out of me

Hindsight is a cruel but useful tool
Painful when realizing the damage done to those who truly cared
Useful when steeling against making similar fatal flaws in future
But ultimately just simply
Depressing
Seeing what was,
What could have been,
And what became.

I'm consumed with regret
I'm haunted by my mistakes
And by my wish to rewrite
Those years of fucked up prose
Wasted ink
And desecrated, yellowing paper

I've now come to accept that this will forever be a mark upon my history
Your taunting face forever burned into my retinas
And I'll always have a smile falter on occasion when your memory does come to mind
(While rapidly trying to fill the void your memory brings with objects, fancies, and drinks)
But I know that I'll be okay
And that you'll never be happy
I know this because I knew you
And I think you deserve it.

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