Acoustic Memories

|| pretentious poetry for the sake of pretentiousness||

how do you end a story that hasn't begun?

this life i live is but a mere skeleton,

a ghost, a whisper of the memories that once were,

dripping with breezes (on rooftops) and creases (in your eyes)

and ever changing orientations with a bat on an eyelash;

what do you do when you watch your own

future crumble to sand and dust at your fingertips? do you 

scratch the grime off your nails or do you let them be;

a remainder of the dirt you once clawed your way through?

what do you do when your present self

watches you through a glass screen?

i am but a soul / i am but a mind / i am but a body ;

yet the sum is smaller (than the parts i left behind) //

me, goddess; me, a dirty bowl lying in the sink;

when i'm finally washed off my sins,

make me dirty again; (and again), (and again); //

[a scoop of tristesse garnished with blood and grail;]  

when you finish scooping it out of me,

put me in the sink again.