Did it really happen

Upon waking up in the morning

From a night of induced for getting

The question strikes like

If my mind was a computer booting

Each time asking the same questions

Asking for the memories that define it

Asking for information on it’s body

It’s function in the world

Who am I

What am I

Where did these memories come from

**

It’s not quite a thick mud that we

Descend to or

That makes us occasionally afraid

To lie hopeful for renewed consiousness

Then to wake up with the sense of loss

Breath like one misses home

**

What a funny thing love is

Or who the people loving

Or safety in a world that’s doomed

It’s a simple question then

But there is no answer

If love is so precious then

Precious is irresponsible with love

Why is there any point at all

I’m curious

What do I dream about?