Bit and bobbles stacked higher and higher
Only a tiny light glimmering at the end of the hall.
Treading carefully, picking my way
How did I gather such stuff, anyway.?
I know what I’m looking for.
I think I know where it is.
But I fear for my life as I look all around
How in the world can the object be found?
Dare I disturb what is here?
Move a box, push my way clear?
Or do I back away slowly
Give up and move on
High tail it to the store
And buy just one more?
I reach out, thinking maybe one look
But as my hand touches the pile, it trembles
Beginning to sway,
I move out of the way
Too late, it comes crashing
Muffling my scream
I am certain Death will find me
Before anyone else thinks 'where might she be?'
Writer's Cramp due tomorrow.... January 13, 2018 – written January 12, 2018
NEW PROMPT: Write a story or poem about cleaning/organizing one's living space, and ending up with something even more chaotic.