Lack thereof

Amnesiac, I am.
Unable to retain 
the succulent supply of the past,
required to lube the present 
with replayed shots of me, 
and, some possible you.
I, therefore,
have to invent you on the spot,
to play the role
of the possible you
within my erratic long-term
memory,
so I can use this forgery
just as a painkiller,
for silencing the frustrated scream,
that echoes from
my temporal lobe.
I can, however,
get ironically amused
by thinking that, sometime soon,
I'll have no other choice
but to invent us both.