Lit Mag


Paged between our biggest memories
are the little things we let slip by;
tiny, unimportant fragments, they say
The type of thing you’d forget the next day.
But I’m standing here, struggling, I fear
With the thought that I don’t know what I’m missing
Are they mistakes
or To-Do lists?
Missed appointments
or life-changers?
Past lives
Or unlearned lessons?
Clearly we don’t know what it is we’ve unconsciously let go.
Though I’d really like to know,
Is there really a story to the image in my mind?
Was our argument truly awful…
or is my rage completely blind?
A fraction of myself
far from the rest of my completed ideas.
When there are so many days I’d much rather forget,
it seems unfair that what I recall tends to make me upset.
But perhaps I’m better off the way I am.
Whos to say that the void swallowed my happy memories?
When it could’ve, just as well, feasted upon the nightmares I’m sure I had
-the ones that force you upright but are hollow inside.
Cold sweats with no memories
do they even count?
I am disturbed
By the desire to burn
every last detail inside
To the back of my mind
Because one day I’ll forget what I’ve written, I fret
Regardless of how long I ponder the…  … … ponder the… ponder the… … .. .

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