The Corners of My Memory

I undust the corners of my memory and found a dead kiss of you,
and an empty stare provided by a pair of dead-looking eyes.
A desire to annihilate the memories and old dreams that compunded the view,
overcame me, to vanquish them all remorselessly.
I undust the corners of my memory and uncovered a bunch of whithered dreams,
all of them wrinkled to the core, all of them with blood stains and trails of dry tears,
and the illusions that once were bright, were covered in misery.
I undust the corners of my memory, and a drape of cold tears, blurred my vision,
for the deacaying view left me perplexed by its own propriety of decadence and misery.
A desire to vanquish it all overpowered me, but these memories are dead yet so alive,
that they have clawed their dwelling in this memory of mine, scarring me, deep down inside.
I undust the corners of my memory and found a mirror
and in the reflection there was a jolly man, face fresh as morning dew,
and in his eyes, there was written hopefulness and joy,
and his heart was open for everyone to eneter.
More tears covered my worn out eyes, for I realised that that man was me,
the old self I once was, the old one I cannot find.
A ravaging desire to unbound myself from the memories took over me
and I closed the door of the room of my memory,
yet misery hovered about and now rests upon me,
persisting in reminding me of the saddned view I beheld,
and it slided me deeper into grief.
I undusted the corners of my memory, and I wish I had not done it.

RQ
Moscow
6/5/10