False memories,
Is believed to be inside every human,
From conjuring a memory from a dream,
To witnessing a funny act and suffering a lifetime of petty arguments as to who and who didn't actually do it,
Or even remembering events before the age of memory existed.

I see those erased memories,
Like a bird that just flew far and farth away,
Ending lost to roam the spiky unconcious,
Flying low,
Dodging and resting,
To only being able to chirp its existence in our dreams...
Trying to let us know they're there.

As I got older,
And the bird started chipping at my branches,
I started worshipping the concept of false memories like she was my god,
I prayed and admired her,
For the times when my head felt like it would explode from that bird chirps,
I would cling to her,
Hoping that she would convince me not to listen,
That she'd deny that bird,
Give me a moment of silence.

Because those chirps,
Always speak the unimaginable,
That would **** me.

I go through this world like a machine,
But whats the point in a broken machine,
That chokes on it's own oil.

^

How can I save you,
When I cant bear the thought..
Of not being able to.

Looking back,
I just wish you left me...
A little bit sooner.

At least soon enough..
So I was less like you.

You burn,
Your flames rise more,
Offering them warmth,
You burn and burn,
Their wooden throats,
And their cold inners,
Now only love it when you're scorching hot.

So you burn and...
you burn,
They are surely pleased.

But the more you burn,
The easier they become cold,
And the quicker you cease,
To smoke.

Oh he the wounded wounder,
With wounds that bled on us all,
His Daughters and Sons,
Now bounder to the flogger,
Cursed to always follow that whip's call.

To survive you only need to change skin,
Never heart.