Continuously my brain shifts, one after the next, through a montage of thoughts,
Yet this memory will always remain, and this dead consequential residual thought.
Here now, and concentrating on the peeling wallpaper, the cracks on the ceiling,
I realize persistently I must hold onto these dead but indelible thoughts.
Writing now, my fingers tight around the circumference of the pen,
And how like ink these memories bled into my mind, into my thoughts.
You were humming softly, the notes dancing around my head, a melody of ineffable beauty, and
Now this seems to be the one thought existing, my remaining pure thought.
My sweaty hands clenched to this substantive head, a maelstrom of matter,
While my life is suspended on a string, and I desperately cling to these dead, pure, remaining thoughts