Colored Apnea
Bedded and cold. I want to go home.
I can feel what it is like to miss my old blankets
And I want to go back. Nothing in front of me feels worth remembering.
Everything in the past does, but I remember less
And less of it as I get older.
Was it all as terrible as it is now? Was there always less vibrancy?
Is my child’s mind the only kind that was able to sense reliable joy?
I must believe these to be true because I am
Naturally regressing to juvenile traits.
It’s only a matter of time before I suck on a tit like an infant.
I am killing myself for the nobility of a pure mind.
No pain and no suffering.
Inert death welcomed by a blissful fume.
If I cease to have my soul breathe what replaces its mold?
Regardless, I’ll discover it soon enough.
I always knew this to be certain, but I thought there would be more.
That’s why I programmed the long term.
If I had known it was so short, I would have taken
The chance to be more of a fool. At least then I would have more color to forget.
About this poem
A reflection on memory loss in young adulthood.
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Written on March 23, 2022
Submitted by xombnehwbtclmmgpqd on March 23, 2022
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 1:05 min read
- 23 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | XXAXX XXXXX XAXXX XXXX |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic heptameter |
Characters | 1,003 |
Words | 219 |
Stanzas | 4 |
Stanza Lengths | 5, 5, 5, 4 |
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"Colored Apnea" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 21 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/122995/colored-apnea>.
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