Flicking through pages, with words unwritten,
Throwing out that which is unopened,
Staring at full memories, otherwise forgotten,
A smattering of half-dreamt dreams. Aborted.
A haven of keepsakes no longer to be kept,
Dust to fall on the polish,
A creaking door on an empty wardrobe -
I dare to stare into abysses now formed
For there's a dead self staring back at me.