Morning’s Questions

 I think that it’s time to discard

All these trohpies of my youth

Whether I’m ending up pr starting over

There’s no asking “what’s the use?”

I don’t know why my room’s so messy

Can’t tell you how it got this way

I dwindle in these bits of memory

And I’ll be staying in today

Most of all I seek some clarity

For all these events seem to be the same

I’ll search through all these relics for remeberance

Find a person that hides behind this name

Perhaps memory is merely imagination

It and illusion; one in the same

All events look like a bad movie

Perception’s something I can blame

Can I question the day before today?

Might it all have been in my mind

Will all these thoughts come to fruition?

Could all the mis-matched pieces align?