Do at least one nice thing for yourself everyday.

I've forgotten so much.
I've forgotten every date that has ever been important to me.
I know it's all either September, or maybe December, and even June or August.
I've forgotten which date coincides with what feeling and now I just don't want to remember any of 'em.

I can only remember one night when I was told that the stars were aligned, but my astrological sign can't make up its own mind so it fights with itself over which side gets my pride.
It's why I do not believe in horoscopes.

I've forgotten so many beautiful words that I made a point to remember.
I've forgotten to remember the things I chose to forget.
But mostly, I've forgotten how to remind myself of it all.

Like, why can't I just refill like you do?
Or like, why can't you sit still like you used to?
Or, why can't we just kill the weakest of the two?

I'll bet the rest of my memory that the amnesia has infected you as well and that now you can't remember the last time you felt all is well.
If that seems to be the case, then I'll also bet that my last recollection of you was one that never actually happened.

I try to remember now, to pick up where I left and to make it a point to cover up all my steps.
I try to remember about everyone else but make sure to do something nice everyday for myself.

I do not remember, any longer, to worry about where you rest your head.
Nor do I recall the reasons I forget.
So until I remember to feel more like myself, I'll keep at reminding you to take care of yourself.
And that you look both ways before crossing the street,
and you count all your blessings before taken by sleep.
And when your head gets too heavy to hold up on its own remember the hands you left back at home.

I was something then. I'm something else now.

My eyes are sinking into my skull out of spite.
Down the hatch, problem solved.

"If you don't sleep, then we won't see."
Down the hatch, problem solved.

I feel terrible for what I'm doing to myself and everything attached to me that unfortunately has to take the fall.
Down the hatch, problem solved.

After reviewing my options it's still the best choice for the time being, but I don't know how much of me I'm losing to them.
Down the hatch, problem solved.

My stomach has resorted to eating the remaining guts and organs I have left ever since that day. All apologies are often forgotten or misplaced, so why bother?
Down the hatch, problem solved.

Sorry guys, at least our lower half is doing just fine.

I was something then. I'm something else now.

She left me at 150 and she met me at 140. Gravity now tells me I'm 134. I'm slowly disappearing but it's no surprise that I am now transparent. You kept me from disappearing. Please keep me from disappearing.

A Lion Mistaken for a Lemming; A Lion Swayin' the Lemmings

There's a narrator in my head. He sounds brave and he sounds care free but he is stern. He's been with me all morning. Usually he feels either jealous or cramped when there's someone else bidding for my attention but on this afternoon he knows that the company is keeping him and myself from tearing out each others jugulars.

There are actually 5 others with me, or us; four small bodies tangled up in the back seat of a '98 Cherokee and two more up front due to size constraints. If he were real he would be sitting shotgun considering he has mastered the art of co-piloting long ago. Instead he sits coach in the backseat with the angels and myself but takes up no space.

The narrator up top mentions to me that the road reminds him of a brick building and we are the vegetation crawling up, meshed together in the cracks. We are every type of moss and ivy and vine all balled together.

The wind from the open windows controls every strand of hair and makes it hard to decipher whose growing each piece. They tangle like our bodies, like vines. The smoke from the 4th, 5th, 9th, 17th cigarette is the only scent and it climbs the road with us. For the time being we are all together and content with the height. He then motions down and tells me the fall from this point is painless and invigorating. I smile because I trust him more than anyone and I quietly agree. We wait for nothing but the elements to knock us loose.

I'll take credit for the reassurance I'll give everyone just before we're about to descend. They trust me and relax their bodies as we are about to fall together all wound together. The landing will be a smooth one, he promises me and keeps quiet. As the wind picks up and we start to sway. We're almost ready to voluntarily lose our grip, all of us.

The rain sends down thousands and millions of watermarked hints to try and tell us something but we ignore it and look towards the sun for a safe landing.

I can't see him but I know the narrator is happy with me and they are too. Life is a breeze at this height but the rain is usually right.

Sheraton's Lie.

Have you ever began to believe a lie you fabricated so long ago that you start to misconstrue the lines between what is true and what is not?

It's the moment that you're face down in a pile of your own words and they seem to surround your lungs with rusty swords. Dull enough to lick the edge of the blade but sharpened enough to drain your veins.

At this point you just commit and breath in every drop flooding your eyes, nose, mouth, brain, even your pores begin to give off a greener shade than usual.

Trash the room, sleep in the bed, then walk away and wait for housekeeping.
Check out is at 10:00am.