I am forgetting and forgetting and forgetting

Open-eyed
I blink fast
yet the world sits bleary in front of me
Sick of tasting wind-salt on my tongue. and the burn of my runny nose

i exist like this in the mornings.
small and unaware

while my house sits hefty and large, its furniture imposing on me

I travel through the walls
Cornflower blue
A sink and a stove
A chair and a bed

Everything is as is.
Except that
my house is not my home

Things I decorate
Glasses of water gather in twos on desks. One new, one stale with my fingerprints

Then, there is hair in the drain that i pick up
And throw, and tuck

Hide away evidence in a neat paper pile
Fleeting, capsule of pure loom
Word-weaver then, but now a ghost without material

Mind lapses in bars, a mental deformity
Sundown. Awareness. Brief acuity
But erased again by the growing sense of distrust
Urgency running volatile, bursting in panic attacks

Am i okay
I am okay
Okay?
I am.
Am I?
No.

A pulsing heartbeat washes away the noise of silence as I lay there, disoriented. Wakeful, but disoriented.

Something is deeply wrong with me.
How are my peers okay
With this small share of life
Are they not bothered by restlessness
Does their skin not chafe after roiling day and night
Among their sheets, paper-thin. Sheets
and pages, notes and documents I could not bring to bed. Sleepless nights, unwritten scrolls and there is that scrolling. 

I cry-shout to anybody listening. Wail here sorrowfully
As the world sleeps. The seamless darkening to night. 

I split my hairs and fragment into pieces 
that I dispense in the warm trusted pockets
Of my imperfect, and infuriating
friend-shaped people persons.

-Who I love. I really do.

But where is my inner foundation?
This 17-year ice block does not feel like a home 
I risk every day to stand on it
When I feel that it is easier to brood and let my tears melt the frost.

All is lost in the sea.

There's no evidence of me.

Scattered.
This is the scariest truth.
The matter that I don't even haunt my own home.