It is easy to get turned around in this world
To fall asleep in one place and wake eyeing down the revolver of a forgotten room
I ask a friend does this ever happen to you?
And she says disorientation is really a moment of clarity me switchblading into a past life
The time between different lives doesn't stretch but darkens
The time between now and where I slip to sometimes bruise-blue
Yesterday I felt compelled to stand out in the rain and be anchored by it
Fresh brushstrokes in my eyes watercolor of wet mascara
I blinked but couldn't holster the gun the old world peeking through
The path home foreign the street names unreadable in the downpour
The stranger on the other sidewalk turns suddenly says a name not mine and yet I knew it was
His face a face I briefly remembered to be yours once
Yes you can vault from one nightmare into another-I am the arrowhead that strokes through forgetting remembering
Then forgetting again