Its amazing how much
I've been thinking
How the neural path connections
Were created in my brain
No matter how much
How much...time passes
It does not erode away.

I dont know what to make...
Out of my feelings,
Undecided in my thinking
Whenever i see something,
Hear that name
Smell that scent
See that smile
Yes that smile,
Unforgettable in all its beauty
The memories just...
Just cant be...
Eroded away.

For the many nights
I sit on my bed
Mentally going through...
Torturing? Musing?
Revising?
Maybe just contemplating
How did things end up
Hanging? Stopped?
Left with an unclear ending
Or maybe just hiatus
A stop in motion
For the existing time frame
Like a car stopped
At the roadside to see other cars pass
By...oblivious to this emotional...
Inertia
A darn long inertia

Its just...a memory
Yet this memory
Like a Crystal ball
Bright at certain angles,
Dark and mystical
In other refractions...
And however strange it appears
A blend of grey and orange
Mixes creating this...this...

Honestly, frankly, truthfully
I am unsure, is bringing this
This...Crystal ball along with me
For better or worse.
It haunts, in measures
That displays a sense of phantom

Pictures flashes through my...
Recurrences of emotional ecstasy
Sets a nostalgic cloak on my...
Struggling depressive motions
Places a pain on this fragile...of mine

I dont know am i fighting to
Get this irrational shadow
Off me, or implore this seen
Yet easy to vanish absence
To stay and remind me
How do i look without the image
Of my...face.
Melancholic?

I considered
The difference in perception
If this pen was given over
To another chosen writer...
How long would the poem be then?
How much would the words used morph?
Would there even be a word penned?

Yet the persona
I speak of
Is still...
Silent...
And most probably would still be
Since its the last line
In this uncertain poem.