Black feet,
by the dust of years ago.
Hidden by the rocks of laziness,
we struck treasure and then we forgot,
forget the forgotten,
pictures of the past;
numerous burnt cds from the days of illegal rampage.
Tears at the corners of my eyes.

we tiptoe through the dust,
not wanting to wake the sleeping sealed boxes.
'They must be tired from carrying all that together'
i close my eyes,

and try to recall the ones they call memories.
these things tell a story and yet we discard like water.
what am i thinking.

19,
great.

and before we know it it'll be next week, i'll be older and in a new house.