I forget the last time

I set foot in a park

I forget my old friends 

Their, laughs and smiles and mannerisms

I forget what my grandfather looked like

He exists solely in sepia tone portraits

Painstakingly  

and instantaneously printed on papers

Crammed into books and folders

I forget to even put

The bookmark on the page

Leaving the continuation of the story

To a veritable dice roll by fate

I forget when I stopped writing and painting

When worlds stopped existing 

In the back of my mind

Only to bleed onto paper through a ballpoint vein

I forget what I want 

to be in life

I usually forget my own birthday

Three years running

I often forget I’m perceived by others

I forget my own friends are there

And some days, oh some days

I forget my own name

Only for a split second or two

Or three or more

And I’ll have a small existential crisis 

In the self-checkout of a grocery store

Surrounded by equally indifferent and forgetful

People with cloth hidden sneers and smiles 

and frowns

And tired sad eyes

Around the block

From nowhere in particular

I sometimes forget who I am

Driving in a car before the sun rises

To nowhere in particular

Running from monsters

That are no longer under the bed

But strapped into the passenger seat

I forget that I’m going to have to be someone

That I’ll have to be an interdependent

Set of functions and beliefs and aspirations

I forget to tell my friends I love them

I forget to allow even myself

The truth because my god is that scary

And that forgetfulness holds me together

Like a paper mache boat

In the middle of a stormy sea 

with waves growing

Higher and higher

Rising and falling

Waning and rushing

Crashing and crashing,

Crashing, always crashing

But

I want to forget so much more

Because to forget something

You have to know it first