All the things I stopped wanting,
All the things I stopped believing,
Now they return to prick me, pick at me, pluck me,
Out of my complaisance,
Into my current conscience.
Beyond all recognition of this perdition,
I make decisions and revisions , to enact this division,
And still I am numb.
All the things I stopped saying,
All the things I stopped doing,
Now they haunt me, taunt me, vaunt me,
Out of my past silence,
Into mental violence.
Beyond repetition of this edition,
I see roads unwalked and leaks uncaulked, memories undocked,
And still I move forth.
All the things we stopped,
All the things we lacked,
Now they repose and we suppose,
Out of our lament,
Into empty moments.
Beyond clarification of this creation,
We bring words unspoken, and actions untaken, lives entwined and yet so broken,
And still we stand alone.