A pile of damaged memories
Gets bigger every time
I think about it;
Cannot forget,
Cannot make it disappear.
All that is left
Is to set fire to myself
And watch it all burn with me.
Crimson embers,
So warm and useless;
Mixing with the images
And dead pixels –
Misunderstood?
Worn out?
Displaced?
I am the odd one out,
Faced with the aftermath
Of the repressed.
A cheap hologram
Of the last truths.
Do not intervene,
Let the embers turn to dust
And spread to others’ minds,
As this is the only freedom
That I will ever get.