Walking through the corridors of the mind,
Piled up high on both sides.
Suffocating to behold the vastness,
Of the collection from years past.
Just as material hoarding,
Some see nothing wrong with living that way,
Not seeing it can be dangerous,
Or toxic to well being.
Some are embarrassed by what they have done,
Scared to let anyone in to see the chaos,
Ashamed they let it get this far,
And not done anything to clear the accumulation.
Some of it is rusting, putrefying as time goes on,
Bugs collecting under the rubble,
There is mold growing everywhere,
Even the floor underneath ruined and warping.
There is trash for sure amongst the melee,
Also priceless treasures not wanted to be lost,
Some, just forgotten extras that traveled in unnoticed,
All buried in the meticulous assemblage somewhere.
You can't start pulling from the bottom,
It will all come crashing down.
Care is needed to begin to sort,
Big things first, the rest worked through slowly.
There will always be residual need,
To start collecting again, to feel protected by excuses.
The relentless demand of sustained vigilance needed,
To continue the fathomless battle between life and mind.