More so if they aren't yours.
Tiny strands of squiggly wiggly memories,
Each full with their own independent shades
of love, pain, lust and smiles
Memories that make little sense,
having passed through sieves of hypocrisy
And lives constructed
uut of these proxy memories
make you feel you haven't lived.
So, fuck you all
It's my life
and I'm going to Carpe Diem