The breaths not taken are accumulating.
It mixes with the tears not shed.
Creates a poison that lingers in my thought
but doesn’t flow into my blood.
To keep me barely alive to suffer.
Suffer from a poison of my own making.
Slowly I forget
one small detail at a time.
I realize it only when I see this gap in memory
that my frail imagination fails to fill.
Words are slipping out of my hands.
My thoughts are no longer mine.
All the parks have become graveyards.
Where tomorrow died a slow, slow death.
And it slips into an even slower decay.
