the memory

 

It’s still too fresh

Death, that man, loss, alone

This realization, we are finite

This body will end, alone

Persevered and decorated, for one last look

But oh so cold, so cold

It’s too fresh, all of it

To be lucid for reality

So I’m taking an upper

Tossing in an aid of blahs

And crashing for a 24 hour eternity

I can’t…won’t deal

With reality too long

It’s still too fresh

 

Author's Note

Cp. 9:55AM Mon 04/21/08 �3 Libras� A Perfect Circle tired lonely sad, eyes, took a green pill, lost (Written, New Word)