Waking up in the dark of night
barely four years of age.
My world is wrought with fright
not knowing my life would be a stage.
That little girl long ago
was innocent… pure…
but now she is who I no longer know.
My mind is a disease for which there is no cure.
At day I have no rest.
At night I can not flee.
Sanity is a rare guest
and when he comes I can’t see.
This is my curse so real:
I can’t forget
the dreams, and ‘reality’ surreal
is something I’ve never met.
So chirp, little robin, chirp and sing!
For today once more you entertain well.
So be merry, let the world its troubles bring!
For tonight once more you feast in sheer, bloody Hell.
Your ability to remember
will be your curse to flee.
Each year, January to December
You will wish you had not known memory.