Untenanted Coenesthesia
Time passes, merciless running
through my hands,
Leaving back, only a trace
of sour dust.
I'm crazy, for trying to fill
this vacuousness,
with words you never
enunciated,
to fill it with
reminiscences,
I never had.
So desperately, attempting to
conceal the truth,
burying so deep,
that my selective retention
will never evocative it.
I'm pathetic, for thinking
it could work.