Past Self

I’m the pretty thing that time forgot, I’ve been left to sing and rot.

I unmarked, the one you miss, I’m the closing clawing fist.

I’m a soul to those of foe, once seen back to and fro.

Deuce deranged, tetrad missed.

Wailing mess, silent twist.

Remember the time, we use to dance?

You the stab and I the chance?

Shredded arms in shifting skin;

Dressing gown of braided sin.

Yes you the thing that I forgot,

You the act unlearned, untaught.