Excuse me if I’m not myself:
I’m afraid myself
is lost
in the shuffle of old and new,
what was to be and what is,
what should’ve been and what is
no more;
I’m afraid my self
isn’t mine anymore;
it belongs to time now—
no, it is time!
: eyes stuck in the past,
face floating toward the future,
with a mind that
wishes to fast forward the present—
erase what was—
forget what is and. . .
slow down the future.
Myself is time,
watching life go by
with lifeless eyes,
waiting for a time
that feels right for me.
So,
excuse me if I’m not my
self...
as puzzling as it seems,
I need a little time
to travel through this timeless
dream,
a constant stream,
till I see,
till I see,
my self
self staring back at me.
