Memories of Poems



Some memories aren’t memories anymore, just things I know happened

which makes me start to doubt them.

I’m reciting a story of someone from the past pretending to be me.

I’m not anchored to anything.

I never existed.

Alien Nation

Chair scraping dusty concrete floor

Heart palpitations

Burnt jittery coffee

I’m not here long

Fading into scenery

Biting cacophony of wooden chair legs

Aggressive atonal symphony

Sweeping the dry floor

Trying to sweep me away faster

Why no, I don’t

“You don’t remember me, but”

No but, I just don’t remember you.

“You probably don’t remember me.”

Are you that worth remembering? I doubt it.

“I bet you don’t remember me.”

Perhaps I forgot you because you’re an asshole.

“Do you remember me?”

Sorry, I live in the moment; you’re from the past

Your insatiable lust for poetry compels you to click this daisy:



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