Her

Her

We never fail to try to forget
as though life would be that much sweeter
If we could live without regret
and be in the black without any debt
We crowd around the humming space heater
ignoring the scent of the poor
Six people standing in one square meter
far away from the door
but I can still see her

I've had several good ideas for poems on the bus/train lately but this is not one of them. I keep forgetting what I mean to write about. It's too bad because I feel as though there were some gems that are now gone. Maybe hypnosis could bring them back, but good ideas are fleeting. At least, creative ideas are fleeting. I guess that's why people encounter writer's block. Somethings you can't force, but I force them and write even when I got nothing. I got nothing. Peace out.