I’ve forgotten the last few letters of my name,
Carelessly sifting through flashbacks like sand,
Slipping from the finger,
Mixing with water,
And creating a blurred thin mud,
Like the sound of wailing women,
With agonies of a symphony of loss,
I cannot recreate that, which I have broken,
Myself,
Postal codes,
On an envelope in my hand,
Burn like the sting of a wasp,
With fires blue,
That calmens and kills at the same time,
Cold metal rings with innocence,
While butterflies turn into crows mid-flight,
Taking with them whatever they can,
In terms of solitude,
Want,
And greed,
Their wings brushing on the air,
Like thorns on the skin,
Stormy skies,
Remind of nights spent alone,
Listening to rain,
To wash away the feelings of being alone,
Of imagining someone lying next to you,
To look over realizing there is no one,
Ink on my hands washes away at a glance,
As if there was something written there,
Of importance,
Landing on the floor,
Giant puddles of oil,
With no men around,
To reap the riches,
I fall to my knees,
Sifting through the warmth,
The black infinity puddle,
Looking for those lost letters,
Only to find,
That they had leaking through the floorboards,
Into a crevice of my mind,
Where I cannot reach them.