The throbbing of the veins within my head
a reminder of the distance the mind has
traveled throughout the night, recording images
of all that was seen. The blood and gore left
on the screen.
No recall, and the memory has been wiped clean.
A canvas in which to start anew, pop the pills
and close the eyes, clear the vision so the past
goes by. The daily process for this world of mine.
Sometimes I remember what has been. I can
recall the rats that were eating me. I know I was
hanging from my suicide attempt. I wake up on
the floor with blood on my knuckles from a fight
I’d had.
Parallel worlds we dwell in, it seems—hard to say
when we live through a hell like this. Making
sense of where we’ve been, of what we’ve
seen when we don’t even know if we exist.
Tricks are played when not fully awake.
We think we know, but we are floating in a comatose
space. Time is stolen, then replaced, gone
for hours, maybe days. Waking up in the
same place, starting over, knowing nothing.
