Unable To Tessellate.

How is it possible that I feel I've lost centuries,
breaths of freedom, planets I could have
helped evolve from ideas to passage.

Perhaps I never existed when
summer bled mercury red, exposing open wounds
refusing to seal them when cold winds choked
any hope I had of healing.

Was I simply dark matter, a dream never fulfilled,
gravity never explained, a break in reality?

Here I am at almost twenty four,
in a body I don't recognize
so different from willow limbs and serene skin.

You say I'm still young.
You say to look at everything ahead.
But, where does this sun now rise?
Where do I focus my sight?
In what direction should my lungs follow?

I am living with both feet caught in the earth
while my mind is lost at sea,
thoughts overlapping - gaps in my memory

that shouldn't be.