Signs

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.