Forgetful
My surrounding is fairly untended
by my conscious
I often leave things
behind
And forget about them
Call it absence of mind
Or very little time
Forever a sense of shame
The cup of coffee
Left behind in the bookshelf
enclosed in glass
Remembered only when the steam died down
The faces of love, now a distant sound
Or that pencil box, rusted and discolored
from when I forgot it in the sink
Thoughts that make shadows cower
making me forget how to blink
The clock that I forgot to time
letters I promised to find
Or perhaps, the present I forgot to live
left behind on the shelf of past
nothing but blank pages of memories
tune of the time I forgot to sing
YOU ARE READING
Scrambled Verses at Midnight
Poetry┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ✧･ﾟ ┊ ✧･ﾟ ✧･ﾟ Things that can considered poems by the loosest definition Just messy aimless lines my brain somehow scrambled together and I thought, why n...
