Black hole

Now that you think
Highly of yourself
Maybe it's time
To close off
That pit of despair
That you would carry
Around
Like a black hole
Where memories
Are mixed in
With the bitterness
Of stems

And thorns

Of roses

Of illusion

Delusion

That springs from
Ignorance

A deep black, active
Type of ignorance,
Like a spinning wheel
Of knives

It's time to
Close off
That pit
Of despair

That you would carry
And step into

Like your own
Personal
Black hole

Of memories

That takes in

And gives nothing