The great amnesia, merciful amnesia will you steal too my heart?
The love I dared, the love I held for a time in my crooked womb
Purer than any other love, a curious species of Narcissism
The better self, the self that is always forgiven and held up
When I am gone and you still me, still viable, will we be one again?
Will you remember me as on a pedestal or as I was skipping
From grave to grave hoping not for life but for a sudden death
Seemingly innocuous, so as not to spoil too much, your legacy
I read recently that Sylvia Plath’s son committed suicide and I got to thinking about how Depression runs in families and so on