it is not to forget, it is not to stop memories from coming to the surface of your coffee in the morning, it is not to successfully avoid, not to bury in a distant soil
because when you bury, there are still the left overs to rot and be found
when you avoid, there is still the cold wind behind carefully closed, hermetically sealed doors
i forgot how to write my name so i could no longer remember yours, since we shared some of that, and yet
oblivion didn't come.
i drowned my sorrows in the pacific, i cleaned my body with boiling bleach, you could never find yourself in here anymore, and yet
eventually the land moves and nobody knows why, it makes me believe earthquakes are the bodies of the dead shaking off forgetfulness.
because when you bury, there are still the left overs to rot and be found
when you avoid, there is still the cold wind behind carefully closed, hermetically sealed doors
i forgot how to write my name so i could no longer remember yours, since we shared some of that, and yet
oblivion didn't come.
i drowned my sorrows in the pacific, i cleaned my body with boiling bleach, you could never find yourself in here anymore, and yet
eventually the land moves and nobody knows why, it makes me believe earthquakes are the bodies of the dead shaking off forgetfulness.
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