As the sunlight falls on my face,
It dawns on me that it’s a new day,
10 steps to the sink, I freshen myself,
13 steps to the kitchen, my fridge is empty.
I map my steps to the sofa, my feet dangling off it,
And while you bask in the blurred memories you’ve made,
I start making mine for the day.
Retracing steps, one at a time,
I walk past the wall to the room I cocoon myself in.
The clock has run out of batteries a long while ago,
The calendar stays yellowed, the pages frayed at the ends.
Splotches of paint stay smeared on a canvas,
Brushes unmoved and the piece of art seared.
The day, the month, the year, all forgotten,
I stay at the mercy of the Moon, the shadows and the sun.
The room, a pale purple, adorned with dusty souvenirs,
The books on the racks, torn, on the outside and inside.
The ink in the pot, dried, the blue begrudgingly turned black,
The flowers, all crumpled and crushed, wearing no disguise.
While all faces in the photo frames race to oblivion,
I remain solitary, isolated from the rest.
Intrigued, I question the purpose of my existence,
Only to know it’s a shout into the void,
The answer obscured from the history of time.
My identity, a drawn blank in my own mind,
My routine, a fix to the changing shapes of the skies.
The mirror in front of me, throws forth an image I can’t recollect,
For I don’t remember my past, I can’t see my future,
The only thing I know now is that I remember to forget.