The old music box your beloved grandmother
Gave you for your seventh birthday
Starts to play some melody again
But the tunes are discordant, unfamiliar
The story book you first learn to read
Are now on your hands again
You begin to carefully flip the pages
But the plot is now different, unfamiliar
The letters your previous lover had sent you
Lurk underneath your tidy bed
Reminiscing while you read them again
But the words are changed, unfamiliar
The house you have dwelled in
For so many days, months, years
You enter through the door so casually
But the interior looks foreign, unfamiliar
The road you always take
Whenever you stroll and ponder
Leads you to the same quiet place
But the scenery is different, unfamiliar
The words your mother told you
Numerous reminders to keep yourself safe
She repeats them all over again
But her voice sounds pretentious, unfamiliar
The mirror leaning against the wall in your room
Beckons you to stand before it
You see yourself through the reflection
But your face is not yours, unfamiliar
