Scraping the bottom of the barrel  

I found fragments of a past life 

Remained forgotten for long years 

Cast along the wayside  

Of memory's lane. 

 

Branches of a time displaced. 

Misplaced and left to fade away 

Vague memories of my past 

Or of a past that is now detached 

From my spirit. 

Did I really live that life? 

Or are these souvenirs from a past not my own? 

Am I just one person 

Or an amalgam of many personalities 

That have lived inside this corporeal being

Each being released at their allotted time 

And then forgotten when their usefulness has been exhausted?