What Really Kills Us

It is the good memories,

The ones which bring laughter

Back into the soul,

The ones which elicit a smile

When all feels lost.

These are the memories which haunt me.

Through the darkness of bitter sorrow and loss

I stumble on, hacking at the vines

As slowly they strangle away

Every last will to live.

The demons of my past taunt me

Yet their fiery glow does not stop me.

I have learned to live with them

While traveling this lonesome path.

Some nights they strive with all their might

To bring my feet to step in front of fate

Without a second thought for my well being.

But never have they done so.

Yet…the joyful images of you and of our time


These are what bring me to such thoughts,

To such meanderings and waltzes with the darkness.

The feel of your hand on my body,

Or the brushing of lips,

Even the imbecile moments,

All of these only bring tears.

The remembrances of tears and sorrow,

They only make me stronger.

They have hardened my heart to pain,

To death,

To the darkness.

Yet when, in my dreams, you smile at me once again

I feel like a child walking too close to fire,

It heats up unnoticeably until it burns

And leaves scars to deep to mend.

And so you have taught me;

It is not the bad memories which kill us,

Only the good.