Monday, February 10, 2025

On Turning Forty

Everyday, I fill myself with 

forgetting. Buying, selling, 

gazing at daydreams. For each day 

reminds me of my mortality.


And each day, my mother's flesh 

melts away in my embrace—her 

skeleton, cold beneath sagging skin, 

as my father's ashes burn 

another wrinkle upon my face.


Everyday, I fill my self with forgetting

that I too am killing time, until time 

kills me in turn. Everyday, I fill myself 

with forgetting—self destruction, 

atrophy, suppressed murder.



August 7, 2023-February 10, 2025











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