Why hold onto personal trinkets from the past? Things, like people, are fleeting moments; rocks rolling down in an avalanche of motion, sometimes colliding and breaking everything they touch. Unless they are glued to the floor. Time now to rip it up, burn it up, smash it all up into thousands of tiny pieces that are as easily discarded as I am. Why keep them whole where the whole has been torn asunder, the one wracked with pain and split in two. I can’t be bothered to maintain this plunder. Not mine, not mine, never mine, not anymore.
I am leaves on the water, running into the debris of life.
Sentimental notions are useless now. Time to rebuild, brick by brick, the wall which was taken down by sweet cannonfire, by beautiful, flaming pitch arrows of infatuation. It all leads me by the nose too close to the emo life, and crying is bad for your eyes. Easier now, to close up shop and take this all off the market. To ring the pealing finale bell in the church of our past religion. Faith, it seems, holds little value for me. Much better now, to worship the tenets of myself than to invest in another false god. Predictable — very. Expected — of course. Respected — never. I love the leaving game now. Parting shots hitting knee, rupturing knee cap into bits of bone and flying flesh; hitting groin and then artery, spilling the sacrements of past ritual.
Better to have loved and lost, for immortality comes swift with absence.