I’ve forgotten influences
that another life had
brought on me.
Had forgotten all the
woes of an
encapsulated soul.

Wheras a thick and
undulating moment
of torture once
served to remind me of those
things long past,
Now such moments
only reflect
other futures
I’d not yet known.

I know if I sit and
recompose those
languished thoughts
I’d take myself to some
other place where feelings
have substance and
meaning,
and thought is of
no consequence.

Long have I longed
for other places,
other times,
other pressures.

The grass may not be
greener,
but always it is
some other
grass.

The grass of this place
has left me with no
possibility
for anything
more.