We cannot abet, our ability to forget.
It is beyond us to ignore,
Old pains, past remorse.

We thought it preventive, to be inattentive,
But our mind picks and chooses,
And this freedom it abuses.

All that is omitted, is not so insipid,
As the memories it absorbs,
Replays and hoards.

And for those of you, the forgetful few,
We can't expect to understand,
The torture we withstand.

How can we convey, measure or weigh,
A sharp pain that is thought,
Convoluted like knots.

No sympathy found, for pains inward bound.
They say what hasn't marred the face,
Is the blessing of young age.

Memory is the tumor in our core, the inner voice we abhor,
A cancerous growth in our mind, the plague of our kind.
It's hopeless to deny, it may one day take our life.

This mental state in which we're thrust, it is the death of us.