Underground_Network
August 27th, 2009, 01:15 PM
Every second, another part of me dies.
I can't help but wonder where the time has gone,
Why the memories don't last
Like I've always been told they do.
I don't remember that time I climbed Mt. Sarajevo.
I don't remember that you were with me.
I don't remember how elegant your smile was.
I don't remember the rope snapping.
I don't remember hearing you scream.
I don't remember the loud thud that ended the screaming,
Seemingly overpowering it, telling it to stop
And winning.
I don't remember the chopper above my head,
Asking me if I was okay.
I don't remember pulling out a utility knife
And putting to the rope that was keeping me
From falling
And falling
And falling.
I don't remember cutting the rope.
I don't remember landing in a safety net.
I don't remember laying in a hospital bed
For two whole days, spouting crazy nonsense
About how I was better off dead
And how the world was so fucked up.
No, the only thing I remember
Is that every year
On September 19th
I have to go to some woman's grave
And put flowers there,
And that my children must do the same,
Because, they've told me,
She is their mother,
And my wife,
But I have trouble believing them...
I mean, what kind of man forgets his own wife?
I can't help but wonder where the time has gone,
Why the memories don't last
Like I've always been told they do.
I don't remember that time I climbed Mt. Sarajevo.
I don't remember that you were with me.
I don't remember how elegant your smile was.
I don't remember the rope snapping.
I don't remember hearing you scream.
I don't remember the loud thud that ended the screaming,
Seemingly overpowering it, telling it to stop
And winning.
I don't remember the chopper above my head,
Asking me if I was okay.
I don't remember pulling out a utility knife
And putting to the rope that was keeping me
From falling
And falling
And falling.
I don't remember cutting the rope.
I don't remember landing in a safety net.
I don't remember laying in a hospital bed
For two whole days, spouting crazy nonsense
About how I was better off dead
And how the world was so fucked up.
No, the only thing I remember
Is that every year
On September 19th
I have to go to some woman's grave
And put flowers there,
And that my children must do the same,
Because, they've told me,
She is their mother,
And my wife,
But I have trouble believing them...
I mean, what kind of man forgets his own wife?