Where Words Are Not Ordinary

It’s easy to pretend nothing happened, 

When frankly so many things happened, 

Our pretentious conversations founded on lies and deliberately selected memories are like a TV show talk,

Ridiculous and misrepresentation of the truth,

You pick the best memories but discreetly throw away the rotten ones stinking of treachery, 

Now untraceable in the soil, none believes them, rather strike them off as mere illusions lurking in my differently wired mind, 

I have spent innumerable years digging that land where those memories remain hidden from the human eye, 

The wound inflicted years back has steadily desecrated those memories into mere dust,

And the dust files away or slips away every time I try holding them in my hands, 

Leaving behind mere sensation and no evidence of pain