Nought

I was in fact better than I used to feel

And not as bad as I once thought,

But was is the point of this reveal

When it all amounts to nought?

Hindsight is the developed photo of the now forgotten event.

It is the crocodile tears, years after the lament.

Remembering is futile, nothing will ever change.

Fate has a way to make life’s quirks rearrange.

Memories are the inmates of your mind,

Their shackles are your synapses.

Freedom is the passing of time

As it lapses, and lapses, and lapses.

When will your thread be cut?

Maybe one should not dwell.

Just continue to fall under this spell

And not fall into a rut.