I.
I keep looking
I keep drawing
hanging onto memories
miserably
(they're slipping away)
The starless night scene
illuminated by city lights -
a small canvas
I keep at my bedside table.
A Christmas polaroid, a photo taken
by the tree
two years in a row.
The memory of home
it's slipping away.

II.
I keep looking,
keep staring
at the unfamiliar faces
i put up
miserably
trying to connect.
Pretty eyes,
pretty lips,
dimples and freckles cheeks -
I'll never be like them,
I'll never have them
Then what's the point?
to keep looking,
searching for memories
never made
never will.

III.
i don't like empty walls
ugly stains filling a void

is there anyone
to erase it? -
my dark stain -
cover it?
paint it?

nothing can cover the empty walls
nothing
but the memory
of me.