Up On the Monolith

００３

Ａ　ｓｐｏｋｅｎ　ｗｏｒｄ　ｐｏｅｍ　ｔｉｔｌｅｄ：

"Ｒｅｇｒｅｔ．"

Written at 1:50AM on the 19th of February, 2019.

Performed on the 22nd of February, 2019.

—          —         —

In movies where the protagonist is an amnesiac, it's almost as if
the very person they used to be ceases to exist.

Regardless if they were upstanding, or the lowest of lowlifes,
or perhaps they were living happily together with their wife.

Everything is forgotten from their memories of the past.
The skills, experiences, and achievements they amassed

amount to nothing, as they don't even know what they lost.
Not even what they very ignorance of theirs may cost.

You see, all things you experience will turn to memories.
Even those of which who you consider to be enemies
who committed against you perhaps one too many felonies
or maybe you just simply have some sort of negative chemistry.

And if you didn't know, there's actually two types of amnesia.
Both of which trap & lock individuals in a seizure.

One makes them forget everything that was & who they were
Portrayed often in media and probably the one you heard.

The other kind is frozen, past in tact but can't progress.
New memories unable to manifest, in the future they can't invest.

If you ask me which is worse, I'd say the latter is by far.
I'd rather any day forget what was and who we are,

'cause the latter means submitting to non-existent possibility.
The past is always present in the future: it's life's synergy,
even if the path ahead is full of nothing but hostility.
But we are not amnesiacs, and we probably never will be.

We remember our past, but we're not defined by our mistakes.
We have not been reset but ahead's still a blank slate.
Our experiences and past will soon be innate
as the future will soon be the past at this rate.

So go on and live your life with this kind of mindset:
Whatever it is you do, just try to live without regrets
so when you recall this down the line you won't be so upset
to the point where you want to crawl inside a hole and forget.

'Cause I'll be honest. Life isn't all rose petals and flower buds.
It's bitterness and sorrow and hatred and love
and you've got to learn to taste both the sky and the mud,
'Cause the head may err, but never the blood.

We can't always be top dog, it's not all bad.
It's almost as if we have to suffer in order to be glad.

A one-book author, 'fore he could write more, heavens forbid—
just before he up and died after his own interview
said he never once regretted what he'd did
but only what he didn't do.