There is a strange sense of Disinterest in the disarray That I feel in the Depths of my Scrambled thoughts - One of disdain and discontent . One would think , After all these years I would’ve learnt how to Sweep the cobwebs Out of my head And yet, here we are Still trying to Sort out the jigsaw And piece the puzzle Together .
Your ending does not haunt you, It’s the space that’s lying there. There were things that simply faded- Now in the place that’s hiding nowhere. It’s a book with missing pages, Or an empty promised lie, Forgotten things you knew That passed on with no goodbye. You’ve a question with no answer Where your consciousness did sit, A jagged shape with sharp edged corners In a space it will not fit. It remains an untold story Made from moments of the past, Sliced open thoughts that healed, Maybe hoping they would last. You don’t know that’s what scares you, You have trauma left to mend. They are your puzzles missing pieces- And the things that didn’t send.