It is packaged in a sleek blue bottle,
The perfume. Delicate. Refined. Urbane.
I urge you to try it.
Why do you hold on to the odor of a decade past?
While you travel in a six lane highway
Pothole free, hassle free, standard
The perfume will make you frenzied
Part of something bigger.
Why do you insist of being such an eyesore?
Remembering. Angry. Raising trouble.
Have you seen how ugly the sores of memory look.
Like someone put a burning tyre on a live human being.
Why do you want to come between a nation and its highways?
And it infuriates me.
You remember and you provoke.
I spray on some more Amnesia.
Why is it then that I can never get over it?
Why is the stench of burning human flesh,
My constant companion?