Spotless Mind

Status: Finished

Spotless Mind

Status: Finished

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Spotless Mind Spotless Mind

Poem by: Kathleen Megquier


Genre: Poetry



I was inspired by memory erasing, this is the product of that. Enjoy.


I was inspired by memory erasing, this is the product of that. Enjoy.


Submitted: May 28, 2012

A A A | A A A


Submitted: May 28, 2012




Taking myself farther than I should go, 

I look past all that's followed me down this hole. 

This dark crevice of despair, 

this tremendously intimidating air I must keep rhythmically breathing. 

I shouldn't lose my head, yet somehow it's grown hands and feet and has climbed off it's seat on my neck and shoulders. 

Dreaming of a brighter day, a more vibrant sun, I know that the mundane environment I've called my home isn't all that's truly out there. 

The faint ticking I hear in the hall, is only a reminder that evening shall soon fall. 

The day is done, and anything left is just a tribute of what early morning has done.

Whispering softly, I can almost hear sincerity in your lies. 

Soft strokes and knowing hands, it's almost like it should be. 

Adequate, but not all that it seems to be. 

You take the breath, the air out of me. 

You make me lay in bed for days, eating things I know will expand my body in the end. 

It's just, I can't defend my reasoning for wanting you, inexplicably attached to a lover that refuses to love me back. 

Woe and her best friend Sorrow are all that I have to accompany me on this journey, this journey to escape and become free from your grasp. 

Whichever comes first, the tears or the screams, I know that all my insanity is caused by the yearning, the longing, and the manifesting of you. 

Brighter days will come, I must not forget, all that consumes me now can easily digest. 

I cannot let you forget though, the pain, the suffering, the child like pattern you've evolved into. 

A greeting there, and demand here, all of it falls through, and nothing turns out the way I envision it to. 

Maybe, someday you'll be erased, it may have to be the day I'm safely encased in a casket buried thirteen feet under. 

Or it could be tomorrow. 

© Copyright 2016 Kathleen Megquier. All rights reserved.

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