Bored of Memories

Worried for no reason

I will wait until your call

And try to see the substance

Of infrequent future history

I hope for every season

Except winter, spring and fall

Where intrigue meets ignorance

Then creates a fuzzy memory

I would flash-freeze the minute

When I thought I saw a strain

A shard of hope from your innocent eyes

Was it not a kind of ploy?

There is something within it

That I doubt I will retain

My mental board of innocuous lies

Memories I can't destroy

Yet I seem to revive them

Each and every single little day

I instill no strategy to repress

What is often and always a repetitive chore

When I'm here by my lonesome

In the tiniest, least significant way

I loathe the memories I possess

These overwrought thoughts are now a bore