00.14

Not my fault. I say. Not my mind . They say.

No matter of how many. Things I keep thinking of one thing, or one memory keeps coming back to me.

It may happened before, and now I am replaying it in my head . where I am laying on a cold floor. No sounds no air. Just a floor , so that I would my self compare. To what? To nothingness. To space. To me. And to nobody.

People would step on me thinking I might be the new art, the new side walk. My knees would shake as before, I would still think over and over about the same thing , and the same perosn. My heart isn't attached , but my mind is. Wishing I could erase it, and start all over again.