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Not Remembering
A most bitter pill,
a truth-a truth-a truth.
Does it hurt to lie?
I swallow myself,
and the chains squeeze,
under the skin,
sick with my indulgence.
There is a witness
to unfolding events
stoic, defiant
immune to pleas.
....Please....
And moments clicking off
possible outcomes,
defining without description.
A Rorchach outside interpretation.
Truth my truth?
an indelible stain
on the fabric on time.
Not sure if this is a corect
Not sure if this is a corect nterpretation, but the emotion of the language feels like horrible period in my life, ten months of feeling the utmost disconnection, after the (then) love of my life and I broke up. It took more than fourteen years, and the woman who became my second wife, to get over that first love. The sense of alienation, remembered to this day, is chilling. Your poem summaraizes it well.
Starward