The other day I was looking through some of my old art journals and as I was scanning their pages, a torn piece of paper slipped out of the journal and fell onto my lap. The writing was barely discernible, but I found this little poem etched in ink. For awhile I couldn’t remember the inspiration for writing the poem, but I finally remembered: I had been sitting in a crowded coffee shop reading. Out of the blew, in my mind, I had a very vivid and intense picture of a baby still in its mothers womb. I knew the parents had decided to abort the baby, and the baby only had a few more hours to live. This mental picture had a strong effect on me so in the middle of the crowded room, I quickly grabbed a piece of paper and etched down these words. The poem is abrupt and disconnect, but I’m going to keep it in its original form and not mess with it.
Sinking into a blank oblivion
amidst the hum of sub conscience.
Purposeful drifting, trying to forget
the pain of knowing
Knowing you’ve forgotten
Knowing you’ve left me to fight on my own
Knowing you aren’t beside me
Knowing your purposeful neglect.
Consigning yourself to oblivion,
you watch me fall
drop by drop
from memory, forever
omitted from your wide shut eye.
Build me a home in this blackness,
where forgetting comes easy
where time runs in circles,
this darkness where I belong.
Leave me in the numbness of thought
Let me forget the