To Each Their Own

He writes everything down. not to remember, His curse, his habit Lists upon lists; word-wars Unnerving really the necessity to do such a tedious thing Like an OCD patient Checks door knobs and Locks, Over and over In his mind he hunts white fish in a sea of Discontent. Only to catch nothing, but a hook made of forgetfulness again and again. How such a thing could even transpire is beyond reach. Grasping failure and releasing it Unto his world, sewing it into his blanket. He becomes ashamed at the mere utterance of importance. Cold. Only to fall Face-first into an ocean of talking heads, while waiting for the bus.