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by Norman
Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #2257020
A warehouse full of trash
I’ve searched and searched and searched again
but nowhere can I find
some signs of hope or even life
within my cluttered mind.

Deep in this attic strewn with junk
are relics of my past,
the flotsam and the jetsam, too,
a warehouse full of trash.

The dust is piled high on things
with cobwebs all around.
Within this mess of odds and ends
no value could be found.

What was I looking for again?
What brought me to this place?
And does it matter anyway?
This dump is a disgrace.

When I collected all this stuff,
the odds and ends I stored,
I never thought to look ahead
and now I have this hoard.

But this place isn’t filled with gold.
It isn’t worth a dime.
Just worthless worn-out memories
all covered up with grime.

Yet still I find some comfort here.
I do, I must confess.
‘Cause this is who I really am -
this crazy, hopeless mess.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2257020-A-Cluttered-Mind