A pin punctures the sole
My god, thank you it’s not me today
as I stand on the cold floor
forgetting I’m already dead.
My memory sharpens
and my toes curl
as the needle sinks in too far
to forget what you said all those days ago.
Cold bitterness scrapes my cheeks
and I huddle
I’m a muddle HA HA HA
Now it’s the same Krapp scenario as the tape bleeds.
A girl stares
Again I’m punctured
Oh the banality of hopeful forgetfulness.
Punctured, ruptured, again.
My forgetfulness reminds me of you
Punctured again, my soul remains
Punctured, my soul remains
On the cold floor I stand