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.