i can't get backwards into the moments
i have been with you
i fear my memory has deeply deceived me
deeply abused me
in its lottery choice recollection of
past and present as it moves so precariously into
the future, that it has left
all the best sitting mindlessly on the roof
and speeds to lose the liquid, spilling on
window panes and a sticky guitly mess of how i cannot
put our together times on pause
i am glad it grows but why must it move
to move supposed contentment with overwhelming reality: this
doesnt last for longer than it is actually occuring


(unless we are buliding)

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