Forsaken

  I held you once. Once, but never again. I watch my fingers crawl over the keys as I let the words flow out of my memory. The memories, though, are fading. A fog has covered them, and everyday they slip away a little more. Every day, it becomes harder to recall the touch of your skin, or the look in your eyes as you told me how you loved me.
  With every fragment that goes missing, a piece of me, and of my hope, disappears as well. The term hopeless has become a bitter one, as it no longer means there is no hope for me, but that I have no more hope. Cold acceptance, however, is not within my grasp.
  I can never accept what has transpired between us, and so I distract myself. Though it seems that everything in my pathetic world trys to fail in distracting me. Everything I touch seems to break so that it will not aid me. Only this cold, filthy bottle of Potters offers any escape from the truth in my world.
  Then, though, even my blood aspires to break me. Not allowed to forget what transpires when I'm drunk, and even making the getting to being drunk a challenge, it offers no real safety. Safety from myself, and my mind.
  Lately... defining me has become a true challenge. I've forgotten what, or who, I am. My memories offer no help, clouding over and becoming lost when I try to focus on them. Deep inside... there is nothing.

  I forget, now, why I wrote this, and I forget what I was trying to say. Empty sounds fill my ears, distracting me, the violins of victory, not vengence. Where have I gone to? I must find myself, lest I become lost.