I've packed a box of memories,
picture post cards,
and love letters sent from wounds
I severed long ago.
Still I keep them
neatly tucked below
my bed as I dream of past and future events.
Anything but present tense.
I've made more plans than memories,
left a trail of casualties.
I worry I'll waste my whole life
planning to die.
It's clear that I've wasted this time
preoccupied.
Now this box of memories
serve as reminders.
Remains from my repeated offenses.
Stolen affection from the unsuspecting.
I've played the victim
and assumed the worst,
manipulate and accept the undeserved.
I've made more plans than memories
and left a trail of casualties.
I worry I'll waste my whole life
planning to die.
It's clear that I've wasted this time
preoccupied.