Irony

why is it that we have sorrow in our bones?
why is it that we crave to love?
why do we die each time we say goodbye?
why do we blame ourselves for what the universe does to us?

Maybe it’s all the pain that the mind remembers
Maybe we got something stuck inside ourselves
Maybe it’s not the loss but the memory that haunts
Maybe we were made to feel this way; forever

the way one forgets ever being truly happy
the way love scorches a heart in it’s wake
the way tears stain lips that once bore a smile
the way time has no conscience, stealing everything

and how light fills all but a shadow…
and how death kisses the young so gently…
and how waving becomes a flesh memory…
and how immortality of a scar mocks it’s bearer…

like an untidy marble statue
like a corpse dressed for a funeral
like a kiss that puts you to sleep
like mistreated kindness

…reminders of all former selves.
…bookmarks to burnt love letters.
…placeholders to ghosts of yester.
…anchors to who we’d become.

The_Inked_Dreams_Irony

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