for me.

—

you die with your memories

unless you write them

to recount your chronicle

of resurfacing moments

the mind is wilfully ignorant of fate

we lead purposeless lives

but we still reminisce

but take away one day

one friend

and suddenly, forgetting felt like dying

—

for monica.

—

everyday a new ride

but the brain is unwilling to play

the wicked game of seek then hide

continues on replay

it creeps up your spine

by surprise

every turn

matures the victim of a new demise

like locusts feeding on bone marrow

glaciating your insides

offbeat for this time of year

…

the head is still catching up on what the heart knows

refute refuse repeat replenish

routine is futile

and fall backs another blemish

quietly put

the heart beats sad

the brain speaks lies

to convince change is bad

—

for you.

—

to be truly kind

is about consistency

one can’t be select