You shouldn't keep your memories 

in your front pocket, 

 because it may become 

so comfortable 

sitting so close 

to your heartbeat, 

which can cause attachment issues 

that are not worth romanticising.

Don't keep them in 

the back pocket of your navy jeans,

 for there is a chance of 

them getting crushed, 

when you sink 

into the batroom tiles, 

tackling it's spinal cord, 

which can cause wounds 

that no microscope can find.

Your memory loves 

to welcome your lovers 

with a tragedy, 

like the cleft of a skin 

waiting to be tortured.

It contracts your diaphragm,

 that you turn into 

a cold blooded amphibian  

crawling through enchanted forests.

It burns you into an elastic band, 

with initials covering it 

and sometimes you try 

to wipe them off, but fail.

It is chronic disease 

which is equated with autumn 

where skies are caked 

with withdrawal syndrome.

So, it will be better 

if you send it to the boy 

who loved you so much 

that it made you feel

a little less inadequate.

Make sure the address is wrong, 

for you don't want 

this wretched thing

clawing him.

Or bury it deep, 

just above the rock edicts 

of a cursed king who 

then became a poet.

Make sure to cement it twice, 

for it can crawl like roots 

determined to breathe.

Or toss it into the fire 

of a nuclear bomb, 

disintegrating everything with 

its fractured finger.

Make sure it is crumpling, 

but then the smoke 

will linger no matter what.

Or drop it into the ocean, 

telling all the prayers 

you know and reminiscing 

about the body of heroes.

Make sure it doesnt get 

entangled in a cold current, 

because it floats, 

though it waits a ton.

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