sudden denial, alzheimers

Don't turn away.
Cause I am the same person, you couldn't take your eyes off once
I know it's hard, being ignored
Meeting the same person for the first time everyday
I am sorry for everything's faded
But I want to make it up to you
Can we live in the past?
I know you loved me then
I know somewhere you still do
I promise, I am the same
I am the same
I am the same
Wait, who are you again?

facts bounce off me like rubber
wisdom sticks to me like glue
why is it i cannot remember
all of the things that i do

when i am lying wide awake
and think of all things near
i can always remember
the reasons why i am here

i may forget quite a bit
but it doesn't matter to me
as long as i know what truly matters
i will always remain free

I’ve always hated Rainy days.

The storm cloud always lingers around.
His days wash away.
Like chalk on the sidewalk.

The rain comes down.
Our conversation escapes him.
Like a dog free from a leash.

I Remember when you took me to the park.
Why don’t you.
The Rain washed the day away.

I Remember when you gave me your pocket watch.
But why do you ask me about it every day.
The Rain washed the time away.

I Remember when Nana died.
Why can’t you Remember her name.
The Rain washed her away.

Do you Remember when we danced in the Rain?
I know you do.
We talk about it everyday.

Why that moment?
Why is it so important to you?
Why did you always love the Rain?

I’ll Remember when I go off to college soon
Will you?
Don't let the Rain wash me away too.

You never got around to telling me

Most days she does not remember what day of the week it is or what time it is
But she always remembers how much I love her
Sometimes she calls me by the wrong name and can’t get her words right
But she always remembers to tell me how beautiful I look today
Most days she cannot form a full thought or complete a full action
But she always remembers she wants her tea with honey and lavender is her favorite scent
A lot of days she asks me the same question 17 times and gets the same answer each time
But she always remembers to tell me how much she loves me
You see Alzheimer’s is tricky and it toys with her head
But she always remains a beautiful soul with a heart full of gladness and an undying love for orchids

She is winding her way in front of my eyes,
dancing and weaving ivory linens around my neck.
They look like fog and I can't remember,
can't remember the touch, or taste,
if it was your soft hands holding onto me
that October night. I can see my eyes,
so blue - were they always this murky
and dull? There was something between
them, is it commonplace to have a comma
in a full stop's place? Clumsy.
I hold onto my mother with weak, calloused
hands, calling her name. What was her name?
I don't know her face. I only know the fog,
the **** fog, and I can't remember-
why can't I remember? I want to know
the call of the damp, apologetic starling
who pecks holes in the sun so he can ride
with the circus. I want to know my hands,
rough like glass over the furrow of your brow,
but the far away tomorrow is coming for me
and I know that I won't remember
my name, or trace, or the reason
my lips rhyme with the seasons,
in time to save me becoming the fog
which stretches itself over my eyes
like soft, ivory linen.

Collecting memories
in an old book..

       But fragile thoughts
             erode within..

I had a book once,
so many colours...
      
        Now there blank
                  like my thoughts..

Reflections fade
after a time..

       My body is here
           farewell to me reflection..

I know longer know
who stares back at me..

          Tears fall, I know not why,
                         but still they descend.
                    

     I'm a book of many pages
                      but all the ink has gone dry..

cre·a·tion·ism
/krēˈāSHəˌnizəm/

noun

1. did you know we were all stars once?

2. our brains string together branching stars like fairy lights, beacons through the uncharted darkness of humanity's last frontier. the brave wear armor made of starched nylon, wielding scalpels as they forage through the shells of asteroids, the red of dying planets, to find the origins of Adam.

3. they only find shallow graves. decaying neurons grow cold, silver, myelin pooling into tear-stained letters written by trembling hands. forgotten keys. forgotten birthdays. forgotten names. stars collapse one by one, an orchestration of color and sound that feels familiar in its chaos, comforting-- like coming home.

4. they bury each burned-out galaxy with their bare hands. tomorrow,  they promise to the dirt and ash, tomorrow we will voyage to the edge of the universe, full of bright stars, and we will find a new hope.