Unspoken

I have memories,

Faint ones-

Nevertheless memories.

Hopelessly strapped upon the back

Of a tired machine.

They beg, they beg, they beg

Don’t let us go,

For we are all you have left.

Can we not be your redemption,

My love?

We still kiss your temples in hopes.

Hopes that you hold tight.

For if we slip,

It just might be the last-

You see of us.

Does it still not give you hope, my love?

Endless garden play,

Protectors watch you so annoyingly sweet.

Does it not tug your strings,

That you want to throw the towel-

In?

Does guilt not sit on you?

Tell me, my love, how does the ol’

Beater feel?

Does it stop and go on again? Or-

Perhaps does it die a little each day?

Tell me, are we prying too much-

That we may drive you to the cliff-

Of insanity!

How does it feel, my love?

Is it like a garbage bag trapping your head-

From your shoulders?

Now I feel guilty, for the

Amount of pressure I put on you today. Now,

Do we continue another session down memory lane?

Tomorrow, I suppose,

My love?