Mad Memory

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A brief moment of clarity in the mind of an Alzheimer's patient.

Submitted: October 20, 2011

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Submitted: October 20, 2011

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I have forgotten my handwriting. The language I speak has changed. The only currency I know is the tick of the clock. I have carried it so long with wrinkling hands. I wait for breeze, a voice, the brief thrill of a face I recognize, but none. What is time but a selfish whore taking up whips on the backs of broken men, each hand leaving its scar on a once perfect canvas of innocence and beauty. She teases with the promise of tomorrow and tortures with just that. Only those who can afford much, can afford the pleasure of scorning her, and imagine they have lost nothing by doing so. Of all the passions I have never loved and hated so dearly, for cherishing such a tragedy. Assurance of tomorrow will be painless once I can keep myself here, within the walls I sleep.


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