Past Caring
In envelopes
of time
a message posts
it's way
settles in
my mind
where junk-mail
greets decay.
There it sinks
to find
the bottom
of the pile,
the yellow
corners curl
and raise
a bitter smile
Occasions call
to brain
the ring pull
on a beer
unleashing
foaming suds
that brew
and disappear.
The mail
stays undisturbed
as once I
cease to care
I cease to
mourn the loss,
for nothing
lives in there.
If I am
cold, remote,
blank as
a whitewashed wall,
the marble in
my eyes
sets for
the good of all.
The temporary
madness
of selfishness
and greed,
the needing
and the loving
I did not
really need.
These messages
expire,
they never
comprehend,
for all I thought
I felt
was nothing
in the end.
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