The burden of memory is not the trauma, no.

That's just a thing that happened, a simple, backward blow.

The real, oppressive weight is the unnecessary junk

My magnificent brain has carelessly sunk.

It's all the old credentials, the emails from 2003,

The names of people I don't vibe with, haunting me.

Every conversation, every fleeting thought I had—

My storage is a nightmare, and the sheer chaos is bad.

I need a structured environment, clear goals, a clean slate,

Not this cluttered, useless history sealing my fate.

I'm struggling with time, sure, but I'm truly drowning in facts.

I can't take initiative when I'm checking my old tracks.

I want to explore new interests, but my RAM is always full.

It's just the vast, exhausting memory of being a productive fool.

I wish I could uninstall the archives, the data I don't need.

The only real burden is this constant, internal feed.

I'm supposed to be looking forward, focused on my worthwhile goal.

Instead, I'm stuck here auditing my ridiculous, complicated soul.

So I’ll simplify the whole mess, give it a quick, decisive shove.

If a memory isn't helpful, then it is not worthy of my love.