Saturday, October 31, 2015

Midnight thoughts at breakfast



An Alzheimer's brain makes one wonder
About what and who we really are
What I mean is that I consider myself still me
If I lose a finger 
Or a leg
Or a my sight
But if I could I would not consider myself me
If my brain dissolved to the point where 
I forgot me
or forgot you.
So am I just adaptive?
Am I just something my mind has made up?
Is the me I know just a figment of my imagination?
A deadly weapon for a naked primate?

Would tragedies exist 
If no one remembered how to wail and mourn?

That being said, it makes me wonder 
What am I?
Do I really exist?

Am I just emotions masquerading as basic need?
Can a human act on something other than emotion?
Is any decision besides when to piss
Or shit
Or what to pull out of the fridge
At 2am
Is any decision besides these 
Anything but emotion?
A frontal lobe concoction?

Do I exist?
Do you exist?
Do we exist?

This morning when I slammed my fists into the breakfast table
And stormed out cursing God...
Even then I couldn't help but wonder

Is my broken heart really just
the lucky charms scattered on the breakfast table?

Is my soul 
Just spilled milk 

dripping. on. your. floor.

Consider the night

What stirs me from the dark tonight?
Some phantom, perhaps
Or a hunger gnawing on my spine

My eyes long for rest
As I stare into the hearth-fire of my ancestors
My mind registers only the rythmic flickering

But it's my ears that listen... For It
It that will be there when the flame dies
It that will be there when eyes close

It that no longer leaves claw marks on this sterile ground
Yet still hunts at night
Demanding my ears to listen to the unnatural silence

Waiting, waiting yet no longer caring 
for that one 
twig 
to 
snap