February 1, 2014
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My memory is shoty at best,
with holes and scratches across
the disk that are severe enough to cause
entire scenes to skip when veiwed
until what happened and what I imagined
are melted into a colorfull chaotic blur
like a candle-stick that had never been cleaned

covered in wax, the reminders
of the light that once lit a life
are chipped away
Oh, the layers are pieces
of a existence so tainted by itself
that a day and a night have the same brightness

A blue candle for a birthday
that might have never happened
and a red candle for a romantic date
that ended differently then accepted
A orange candle for a spell
that I dreamt would come true
and a black candle for a funeral
that has yet to happen
layers, colors, shades,
memories, dreams, information


the data isn’t lost or
nonexistent or
inreversably corrupted
it’s just a little misplaced
at the moment
most likely

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