Hoarder

 

Head like a hoarder’s paradise,

old letters and books,

stacked floor to ceiling.

On the walls,

faded paint is peeling.

Redecorated way too many times.

Mountains of newspapers.

filled with stories of dramatic old capers

and historical crimes.

Random detritus from yesterday's world,

stuck in my head to be constantly unfurled.

 

Floor covered in bits and pieces.

Remnants of stories,

like crushed broken biscuits

and month-old pizzas.

Ground into the carpets,

those fragmented words,

like a rotten old carcass

staining the floorboards.

 

Random clutter all over the floor,

in this, my memory store.

Trudging through old dates

and historic facts,

classic movie extracts.

Old comics and games,

memories of childhood,

some hard to remember names.

 

My flatmates in this cluttered nest,

some memories better left unexpressed.

Song lyrics, old sayings, misheard utterings,

correctly remembered or not,

come crawling in at 4 o’clock

to do some restructuring.

 

Dusty takeaway menus piled high,

the places I've eaten at in my life.

All given a star rating,

helpful only if they are still trading.

So much mess over years I've collected,

phone numbers long since disconnected,

but they still live on, in my head,

like conversations we once had

and the things that we said.

 

Yet can I remember why

I came through this door?

No, that memory must be lost on the floor

in my head shaped storage room.

That is all we can assume.

 

 

Thank you for reading

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Peace, Love and Poetry

Kyle