Making memories,
wondering who sent for me,
if it wasn’t you then who was it,
and if you didn’t why are you here anyways,
have man have machine,
have real life have dream,
were you born or were you made,
there isn’t a difference or so it would seem,
you don’t believe,
because you’ve never seen a miracle,
that’s why you **** for a fee,
and why you’re always so cynical,
and maybe that’s why I write,
more than I do anything else,
as a way of trying to jog your memory,
while running up the bill,
at the bar trying to wash away,
things I can’t recall,
in this present day dystopia,
call me Jack I’ll call you Jill,
getting drowsy,
must be the pills,
on a plane,
going somewhere else,
travel some much,
sometimes i wake up and don’t know what country I’m in,
it’s a dog eat dog world so cat naps can be dangerous,
especially when you drink and drink sleep walking on Ambien,
a creature with amnesia and beautiful features,
how’d you become such a miracle,
are you really that perfect,
or is that just the way I remember you,
guess it doesn’t matter either way,
because maybe I don’t even remember you,
maybe you’re not mine because maybe you never were,
maybe nothing is mine not even the memories I have of you,
maybe it’s all just programmed,
by a woman behind a glass wall,
maybe in the end we have the same thing we had in the beginning,
which is absolutely nothing at all,
making memories,
wondering who sent for me,
if it wasn’t you then who was it,
and if you didn’t why are you here anyways…
∆ LaLux ∆
