Forgotten by Grady

Posted: July 13, 2012 in Poems

I got a lot of pictures
from back before I fell.
Now they’re just familiar.
Some barely ring a bell.
Some are unforgettable
and they’re the ones that hurt.
I should take them out on the yard
and bury them in the dirt.
Losing everything you ever had
hurts less when you expect it
and it’s not really all that bad
when you come to accept it,
but once you forget about it,
there’s no means to the ends.
It’s all just a story
that you sometimes tell your friends.

Remembering the good times or the bad;
I don’t know which is worse
and I remember everything.
That seems to be my curse.
Like 317;
that’s the room that I was in
when I got busted
at the Plant City Days Inn,
and I even remember
my very last meal.
It was a Barbeque Pan Pizza
and a chicken wing deal.
Sometimes I wish I could forget,
because I can’t go back again
and I remember everybody,
enemies and friends.

I can imagine people in Hell
even still remember life
sort of the way a puckered scar
can still remember the knife.
And when yourself becomes forgotten,
then it’s like you’re dead
or you dropped off the face of the earth
and live on Mars instead.
And the greatest fear of the dead,
in the ground and rotten,
is to remain but six feet away
and be totally forgotten.
And here I sit up the road,
but it’s like a million miles away
when I remember all of those
who forget me everyday.
by Grady

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