A cut so deep, an injury so false.

These days all seem to blur into one another, just a mind full of random scatterings of memory from the weeks or months previous. The conversations I've had, the media I've watched, I've found it extremely difficult to remember the details of these without prompting from someone else. It's extremely infuriating, I'm getting excruciatingly frustrated from me trying to remember these details. It truly is an annoyance.
Of course, certain events stick in my mind, the odd omen, the odd moment of excitement, even the odd switch. These are never what I want to remember though, just random flashbacks of pointless memory.
Of course, the omen. The walking plague and the current bane of my life. I spend almost every waking hour analysing it's words, it's appearance and even the reasons for it's presence. Many theories, probably none of them true. It could simply be literal and if so then the curse of the over analytical brain strikes again.
So it shall raise it's scythe upon to me, swinging its blade towards my chest, slicing through both clothing and flesh, scarring me. My eyes flash open and I come to grips with the fact that this isn't reality, although my grasp of such a concept seems to be slipping, perhaps soon my greatest fear will come true.
So as I stare in the mirror at a broken reflection, the person I once was. Nothing ever stays the same does it? Peace is never a long term answer to the problem, only a short term release from the horrors of life. I run the finger down the newly sliced cut, realising that the injury may not be real, but the blood that pours from it is.