Categories
Poetry

Unreliable Narrator

It exists as a memory,
Though I’m not sure I trust my brain.
Dreams seem too real
And the memories lack detail,
So they somehow end up the same.

It is so fundamental.
You trust your mind and your eyes.
They serve their part as units of a whole, But suspicion creeps in when pieces don’t fit, your neurons misfire and feed you lies.

How do you navigate this world
When there’s no way to be certain
Your thoughts are real
And your memories aren’t false?
I’m tangled up in a thick, opaque curtain.

© 2022 Jeff E. Brown. All rights reserved.

By jebrownwriter

Houston, TX-based Writer and Photographer. Proud pet rescuer who spends nearly all his money on them.

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