Memory


A black emptiness grows inside my brain,
devouring both my memory and dreams,
the way cancer devours a healthy cell.

Everyday I can feel my neurons
dwindling, from the afterburners of life,
as trampling pales a pastoral ground.

Each morning the weight of my memory
seems lighter too than it was yesterday
before I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

As if sleep is a curse of plague upon
the folks of my memory’s feudal town,
ridding it of its common populace.

Is it destiny or a disease vile,
I do not know and neither can I guess!

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