I wait for tomorrow mirroring the anticipation,
of a stray in a pound, who remembered life before her cage.
Maybe it'll be everything my mind could conceive
I look upon it with unfiltered joy, just as she remembers life.
I fear however it will fade into reality;
just like her memories before being confined.

I compare myself to a mirror,
avoided the same way a bulimic refuses to gaze into one
as if I bring the same pain is knowing
that you're engrossed to an exercise in futility;
frightened to see, what the remnants of you is feeling.

I want to go for a walk in an abandoned theme park,
and fester with the memories of anyone's yesteryear;
who recalls it as the definition of happiness.
I want to be the tree house that avoids demolition,
spoken about only in memory laughed about;
then trialed off by pleasured sighs.
Wreaking that, would be like demolishing memories.