Amnesia

Remembrance dark, a shadows face
A name, my name,
“Jason Grey,”
That name,
A bitter taste
Rolling off my tongue
Who is he?
I just don’t know

The rattling rails
Upon which I ride
Leading me onward to that place
Midwest left, eastward bound
An Ivy league, a university
His desired destination… not mine

Them and they, look at me with…
Constant recognition,
I cannot reciprocate
As the guilt devours my soul
It eats away at the scraps…
Of what remains, I cannot compel

“Jason. Jason?”
She calls over the line
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Nothing but a lie

A mother calling her son
Such novelty, simplicity
But I am not him,
Birthed by an accident
Which took his mind
An imposter, blood stained
A murderer, a fraud…
Am I

Now, simply me…
I remain
A shell,

A summer passed
Sleepless nights, countless
What I should call home…
Pain, nothing but, it courses internally
The sight, her face… clear recognition
Hers… not mine
A mother, desperate
Seeking her child
The one who vanished
Unto the wind

Distance, the best choice
For both victim and forgotten
Until I…
If I… can bring him back
Law school, amusing how much I know
Yet it feels… so… estranged
As if a skill, no remembrance of how
Nor the why
Simply there, engraved upon my psyche

“Now be sure to find Miss Gavin’s daughter at the station,”
A mother’s concern, understandable…
How I wish I could know her,
Oh how I wish…
Recognition, a damning contempt
“J, did you hear me?”
“Yeah, I got it, mom. Don’t worry.”
“Mom” calling her that, my heart aches

Guilt, Rampant
In my heart and in my mind
Soon enough the conversation ends

Out the glass, as blurred it passes,
Country side
If clearer, panic… unto me
The fragmented memory of that night
The blinding scortch of head lights,
The crunch of metal,
The darkening abyss of the river
My tomb, suffocating and wet…
Cold…
As for the why,
Any point leading unto his death,
I can not recall,

“Death…” an assessment, so inaccurate
He lives, now only unto me
The ghost of my former self,
Echoing in my ear

“How can you not know the mother who raised us?”
“Shut up,” a mumbled phrase
Odd though it may seem,
As real as it gets,
He’s there, constantly nagging
Detail after detail, relaying in my ear
Who we once were
Now, simply… Split

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741