Every Morning

I don't know where I am anymore. I wake up each morning confused and alone. Why am I in this bed? Whose blankets are these? What the hell am I doing here? I get up out of that strangers bed, put on someone else's clothes and walk down stairs to root through someones fridge in search of food that does not belong to me. After I drank someone else's coffee and eaten their food I than go back upstairs to shower. I hope no one comes home and finds me, some stranger, using their soap and towels. That would be very embarrassing.
Once I am clean and dressed I step outside. For some reason I have this urge that I cannot quite define. I feel edgy. I feel tweaky. I feel weird. I dig through the pockets of the pants I am wearing and find a pack of cigarettes. I have never smoked before yet somehow I feel like this is what I need. Odd, there is a nice Zippo lighter in the pocket as well. It is old, it is beaten and it looks like someone went through a lot just to make sure they didn't lose it. I wonder why they would leave the house without it. Maybe they are somewhere, waking up in my bed, looking at my things, wondering where they are. Maybe during the night, when we were off in dream land, we got lost, got disoriented. Maybe we went back to the wrong body.
Does he prefer my life to his? How, you might ask, do I know that it is a him. Well, when I woke up this morning I was a man. Just like when I went to sleep. The only difference is I wasn't this man. I was someone else. This man is tall, he is heavy, he smokes a lot and he has drugs in his pockets. He lives in the suburbs. He has a nice car. He has a cell phone full of numbers. Full of names of people I have never met.
Is he staring at the mirror wondering who is this stranger looking back at him? At first, thats what I would do. Stare blankly, blinking my eyes and rubbing the sleep out of them. Wondering, am I still dreaming? Is this a nightmare? Did I eat some turkey last night and I'm tripping out in some sort of turkey induced coma? No, this is real. I am not me. My old memories start to fade and new ones take their place. Memories of a life I didn't live. Memories of a person I never was. Of a family I never had. Of a job I don't know how to do. I drink some more coffee.
With each sip, more comes spilling back. I am not that person storming a castle, rescuing a girl from a glass cage full of thorns. Taking her back to hotel room and fucking her in closet. No, I am not that man, who seduced the maid and made her my woman. I am not the man on the run, from assailants unknown. I am not the boy lost in the mall. I am not on a island full of junk metal and tiny people. I am not the child wandering in the woods only to find a trashcan full of crying heads. Heads looking for their bodies. I cannot fly. I cannot breathe under water. I cannot run on all fours.
All I am is the man looking back at me in the mirror telling me this is real life. This is you. You are this person. Look in that wallet there. Read the name on the license. Go outside and compare the address. Call some of the numbers and ask them who you are. What is our relationship. How long have I been me for?
You do all this in your head because you know if you told anyone, you would be locked up. Studied like a lab animal. Only one person knows who you truly are and they are dead. You know this. You know they were not a person at all but an animal. You lay on the grass, right by where your buried her. It reminds you of all the things you are, and by contrast, all the things you are not. You grow to accept these things. A sense of Deja Vu permeates your day. I have done this before, haven't I. I will do it again.

Every Morning.