Withered Roses

I cannot see my future.
It’s not within my reach.
This thing that they call love,
Is not an easy feat.

Though timelines map events,
This journey won’t make sense.
Our events are not in order,
My brain is a useless hoarder.

Memories packed in boxes,
Thoughts racing, filled with toxins.
Clarity’s gone missing,
My head’s caught in endless kissing.

An escape seems so distant,
The present time was pleasant.
While the future has flown by,
Tomorrow still is shy.

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