Forgetting is sound disappearing, a body’s spasm

In folds of death, a mind’s entrails in a stomach

As everything of you freezes in life’s green liquid

An ice block of death, whose water of life melts

The night when it happens in a death that stares

And you collect life’s water in rags of wet clothes

As body is a waiting rag torn off from your fabric.

Forgetting is fire and wood, in a crackling sound.


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