"There's not much doubt in any of our minds that no complete idea springs fully formed from our brow,
needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars.
The germ of the idea grows slowly..." - Walt Kelly

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Cherry blossoms

Day Twenty-Four: No prompt today.

It has sprung, and the petals
are all memories of times before
(how many...pointer, middle...)
when I've made the same mistake.
They fall and flutter like snow,
awash in a cold as stark as winter.
"No regrets!" the others champion,
and I wonder how unrealistic
the rest of their lives must be.

I lie with the shades up,
sunlight slanting through the pane
to my forehead, and I wonder -
no, I am hoping, wishing
that this window was sharper,
a magnifying glass, and this ray
would burn a hole through my skull
to eradicate the part of my brain
that let things end the way they did.

Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Broken Social Scene, Sweetest Kill

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