Torn

She forgets.
Not quite forgives but buries memories under burning
paper.
After-all. It was easier.

So here comes 10.
Chimes 12 with weary sodomised hands
Whispering sweat beaming off your broken brow

She sits, watching flickers of fonder memories,
tearing, repeating, gnarling
and broken bones.
Harrowing.

And yet, these seconds whimper.
And whine away with broken promises and the hurt.
Hidden smoke in the broken looking glass.
Tiresome

She dreams
and soothes as the clocks fade at midnight
Shadows creeping down enigma faded streets.
Eve.

So it’s now 4am.
The moon sets as the sun wanes.
Distant shadows dance in the faded light.
The dance worked.

So it’s time to wake.
Memories fade. Long rises the shadow of her former self
Everything fades.
Till 10.