Saturday, January 7, 2017

Obliviate

I was going to write a poem
In beautiful words I'd express 
The way your ghost had returned 
The black weight,  the cherished pit
But you aren't worth
Being caressed by silk soft words
To wrap around you in gossamer glory 
Instead I want words
That splinter and rot inside you 
Your existence has become a blight
On my precious memories of you
And it would be distressingly easy
To wrap you in shimmering anamnesis
To see you through a lens turned back
So maybe once you might have been
My summer
My poetry 
But now you're just an asshole

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