The image of 'I Love You'
lies perfectly etched
[in scar tissue]
upon the glassine surface of my reason,
while [the memory of]
every starlit night in your arms
makes me
scream for
[the morphine of]
forgetfulness.
I would euthanise Logic and murder Fate,
if not for the spectre of Uncertainty.
...["What if I'm wrong?"]...
Haunted is haunted, though...
Ghosts don't remember how they came to be just so,
But they seem wont to remain, nonetheless.
Author notes
Funny, but I nearly didn't remember writing this...finding old notebooks is BETTER than Christmas!!
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