Dementia

These memories, they criss-cross and scatter And I don't know where they go. I don't know who I am But I'd very much like to know. I am left bereft and dour That's when I can remember why. My mind is expunged of memory They leave me without a good-bye. Withdrawn, I am craven And left to the mercy of this plague. This dearth, it manifests My mind, making it confused and my memories vague I can't sign this poem because I forgot my first and last name I am ever so tired of playing this eternal guessing game. By Nicholas Bello