if memory is what binds us here
makes real the ghosts that stalk the land
lay waste to the dreams of the living
tear at what hopes the future might hold
then I want to be forgotten
let the small good I do remain
kindness as intentional scree
shards of broken love for those better equipped
words dropped on back streets and banked trails
to be found if someone has need
but not me, never me
when I go, I would be gone
do not tie me here with false tether
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