The Emotional Orphan

CLICK FOR AUDIO

OK.
I think I get it. Fooling oneself is such a chore.
Can’t be bothered with Love or any other distraction.
Though in this case the need is false and misguided.
Pointless. A diversion.
But change requires effort
and energy must be conserved for the inevitable next pass.
Not to turn insights into action-
Some say what if I fail ? Haven’t I always?
Ill eat my crow later instead .
Nothing is easily forgotten.
What I’ve forgotten has been a constant reminder.
What I knew and believed in about love,
yet another lesson about how little I know.
It all fits into its black plastic body bag with handle ties.
Maybe a shoe box coffin,
or a hard drive that will fail or cremate itself one day.
Like me.
Sarcophagus placed in the green plastic boxes,
that hold memories, mistakes and uselessness.
The only antiquities owned or treasure acquired.
Don’t forget about all that potential wasted.
It has to go somewhere.
Like into boxes that make up my museum in the basements.
Basements of my house, my heart and my mind.
I’m used to it now. I am the curator of a wax museum.
I keep the keys in the locks at all times.
Seems I’ll need them soon. Always.
If I moved my museum to the sunshine,
would it melt and go away?
Please.

121809