Pixels form together,
Piecing together my memories,
For my own internal one's
have abandoned me again,
Eyes drift over places,
faces,
things...
things I should remember
with vivid, brilliant certainty,
Such a strange land
in the abyss of my mind,
As if someone had told me
that I were a foreigner
to my own soul,
That it knows me not,
That I am but passing strange,
How odd to be so alien
to oneself,
to be so weird in one's own eyes
that you lose the ability
to recognize and decode them,
Do they sparkle?
No.
Do they shine?
No.
They are dead,
dead like the memories that
I cannot grasp,
Sylvia said it best
"I think I made you up
inside my head,"
and truly, I do,
Were you ever really real?
Were you just another one of
the delusions...
hallucinations that they swear I am prone
to?
Was I real
back there, in that place?
Just tell me this
if you cannot tell me
another thing,
Was I real?
Was I ever?
You have always been real. I understand how easy it is to forget if one is real or not.
ReplyDeleteYes, glorious BPD makes it a little too easy for me to detach from some things. Things I'd like to remember.
ReplyDeleteI would love to forget a lot of things. I haven't forgotten you. I do miss you and hope you are doing well. I hope you know you can always call me and I miss you.
DeleteI've lost your number. My new one is 317-628-0361 if you want to text me or call or whatever. I miss you too.
ReplyDelete317-629-0361 not 628, damn touch pad
ReplyDelete