I’m trying to remember the last time it wasn’t this hard,
When was I last not tired, too exhausted to find a way.
I’m trying to remember the last time I was sure,
When I knew, without a doubt, what was black and what was white.
I write my name in a book to prove that I was here.
Keep counting pages and wages, changing ages every day.
Shadows fall across the table where I sit and not write,
Right time, right place,
Wrong me, wrong head-space.
Going home, going no-
Where everybody thinks they know my name.
But it’s not so easy as eight little signs
Because my eyes tell tales that words never will.