My brain does not know my name
Melting luck of what I am
just a burning pot on the stove,
gone too far beyond repair,
not sure if I even care,
used to stare at my past,
long gone way too fast,
like summer meets the ice,
my bones know who i am,
my brain does not know my name,
take me as far as the pain
can allow my hallucinations,
no visits by the loved ones,
just me in the bed,
with flowers already dead,
leave it to the wires and bed,
i can see now how comfort
can be art, every breath
like stolen Picasso art,
wishes to return to its maker,
from up here I can see,
through my eyes to the red sea
real story painted without the painter.
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