a stranger in a strange land

sometimes stuck amid tiny hills
   tiny yet insurmountable
and sometimes deep in a crevasse
   one of many many deep, meandering ones
i stand not knowing
where to turn
when to turn
or even why to turn

after all one tract looks so much like another

all around me is a churning, turbulent liquid
   formed by my many memories
whose role is supposedly to protect (me)

but
that liquid seems more intent on
drowning me whole in the memories
of my past selves
carrying me along my present selves
(hopefully to my future self)

for now
i am now a stranger here
a stranger in the strange land of my brain