Is it better to be an amnesiac ?

 

When I wake in the morning,

I won’t remember this poem, it will have become

A fragment of wild thoughts deeply secure between

My pounding skull and the brain inside of it, which

Never sleeps; 

I don’t know if my eyes are open now,

Perhaps the texture of the paper leads the way,

Maybe it’s better that they’re closed, trapping the thoughts

To be transported directly, electricity through the wires in my hands,

They will not be diluted by my heart’s anxiety, nor my shivering spine;

I will read this in the morning when yesterday’s hardships

Become part of the museum in my head, encased behind thin glass

When I’ll have no reason to revisit them, new hardships

Of today tickling my feet, in unwanted anticipation; my apparent

Amnesia keeps my head from dipping its fingers into

The bitter wine of withering memories, it keeps them

From picking at healing scab wounds, there’s no good ending,

Always bloody, and yet these poems,

It seems, are my only way of remembering, skipping

From one day to the next, each with its own defining moment,

Tomorrow night’s poem will not be like today’s or yesterday’s,

And yet it will be the same: 

hurt, happiness, intense emotions of all kinds,

If I wake in the morning, and this notebook is on my lap,

I will read this, and fall back into the wormhole of the past,

Is it better to be a new person every day of the week,

To not have a recollection of yesterday’s persona,

Is it better to be an amnesiac?