the conundrum of memory

the words shrivel and fall away like a
season's batch of bug-ridden fruit;
and a mistake like that can prove fatal.
sentences burn in the purest fires
and half scream, half laugh thier
final vocalizations to ears that
can hear but don't listen.
memories, laughter, mistakes,
all carefully grown and nurtured,
with the fledgling belief that perhaps these
ideas will take tangible root, that they may matter even slightly,
to anyone, someday.
now, as i can do nothing but expend my last,
i still hold that belief dear to me;
it is my sacred armor, my soft-skinned goddess,
my everything.