June 23, 2015

Temps Perdu


I guess
it's too late
to change who I am,
my path to this house
so easily traced,
one misstep leading
to another.
More and more,
I fall asleep
when I should be watching,
looking for all the telltale signs.
Refusing to confess is not
a punishable offense,
but more a symptom
some are bound to notice.
My doctor now asks
a series of questions
he never asked before,
testing my memory,
to see if I'm eligible
for the cure,
wondering if I can still
find my way back home,
if I'll be needing
more attention,
soon.