She walks her memory dog to the park.
He bleaches the sheets where the bad thing happened.
Her dog was a present from him.
His sheets, a present from his mother.
She can’t stand to cuddle the dog anymore.
He switched grocery stores.
She walks her memories to the park.

He burns the sheets where the bad thing happened.
She can smell it, she can feel it, and as she tries to run away,
From the smoke cloud consuming her,
The memory dog closes in.
Not sure if he will bite or just die, she falls.
She falls deeper and deeper into this hole of an illness,
Until she can no longer see light.
But she still smells it.
He doesn’t.

He reaches for sanity and finds a lighter, a knife, a pill bottle, a forest fire.
He is looking for something, a lifeline, or a sunken ship.
He just needs a smoke, or a light, or one really good high.
He needs a new friend, or an old lover,
Or a little of neither,
Or a little of both.
He needs her.

She doesn’t want the dog, but it’s too hard to give him up,
Too much hassle.

He burns the forest where the bad thing happened,
She smiles, and cries.


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