My Mind Is Not Mine

My mind is not mine anymore,

I don't own it.

It's not something I got in the mail.

"Me", the ownership,  

is out to lunch,

retired,

moved to Bermuda,

but I still keep getting his bills.

I'm just the tenant,

the renter,

"that guy that lives there",

the vague stranger

easily replaced after

cleaning and some paint.

Forgotten,

like last years weather.

"John, yeah, he used to live here...

I don't know what happened to him."