Forgotten Things

These same old streets have new shops,
selling memories of forgotten things.
Oh, what it would be to become one!
To escape from this empty time capsule
the way we fleet and flee our memory
by rejecting a lifestyle of, "Why am I here?"

The paralysed have become accustomed
to be moved by the slightest of touches
until they have reached a distance so far
that each sombre trip hits us differently,
knowing that these will be the final times
travelling down these ever-changing roads.

This journey home is not where I began.
I kept moving with no dead-end in sight.
Oh, how it will feel to be transported
by time alone until I am unrecognisable,
because I was finally able to break free
from a lifetime, attempting to pass me by.