Evening, I wander lakeside
Heavy with the tomb of sorrow

Dropped deep inside me.

Ephemera, and trauma.

I thought I could stop
The incessant hum

By moving from city
To city,

By starving clean
The body.

The miraculous leveling out
Of meaning.

Obsessive archiving and collecting
As a means to stop the hum and drone

Of memory, the diamond-white
Rush of doom.

"How do I feel about my botched suicide
Now."