Brick by brick the light fades

Moment by moment my mind empties
Spilling out useless things:
my old pack of gum
the knife I just bought up at Frank's
a picture of my cousin getting married
the memory of when our family went out to a beautiful lake house; we had family, booze, fun, and argument. Mother says "not to speak of this ever again."
A small figurine of a lion
intuition
thought, and
my favorite T-shirt; the one where Sally Hadle left her lipstick stain, kissing rigorously that night.

What was left would do:
a piece
a flame
small dreams
a thumb, and
the ability to accomplish nothing

not even an end