One Hundred Poems Lost in a Fire

One hundred poems lost in a fire.

One hundred moments, thoughts,

Slices of a mind unpicked;

Immersed into a form more purposeful.

There is no recovery.

No insurance will resurrect the dead-ends of my psyche

An ever burning twinflame

Priceless; worthless.

For what has left claw marks on my synapses

I build a monster of you.

A Frankenstein mess of what I felt at fifteen

So close to the real thing so it may demand affection

But I’ll abandon you with shame

The cinder of your sisters to keep you company.

Though what would it mean had they survived?

Crisp corners, legible zombies

You’re worth more dead than alive

The moments captured would otherwise dissipate

Wash away with the pulse of the shoreline

But I cling to my own feelings like sand.

One hundred poems lost in a fire

A history of every scratch deemed worthy 0f a scar

A graveyard in which I spend every night.

A legacy that could have cradled me a little longer

Though maybe otherwise I’d have never let go