Afterthoughts

Afterthoughts And I’d sit and think To myself- just an afterthought- These Maledictions became addictions For the weak at heart, with weary words They cave and dilapidate under their dispositions. I couldn’t accept it then, and neither now. A question posed at these jaded memories, Why does hindsight not reflect the future? A glass marred with scratches; the silver absent? Blind? To no avail, to no fruit, they pick not at flowers but thorns. For all those I care about, I sit and think, Pondering why not have they saved themselves? I’m no longer there, and, to my knowledge, Neither are they.