Meandering around the back alleys of my brain
the dark accentuates the corners and amplifies the space
left for the odd socks, neglected ideas
like pennies that drop out your pocket,
falling between the car seat and the door,
the lost and found fashion of mismatched PE kit
and school pumps that stick to the gym floor.
The cleaners don’t come here, dust lies so thick
I could make a snow angel with it,
constricting rusty daydreams of the place’s potential
like an amateur home improvements TV show.
Being alone is not the same as being lonely
and though the air here tastes stale,
it’s comforting to be away from the restless nerves
my body becomes a slave to, under pressure
to play the game, this world’s trivial pursuits.
I think I’ll visit myself more often, being back some food
for the frightened mice who find solace
in this hideout too, maybe we’ll share a picnic,
finally sit across from our fears
and talk until we forget
which of us was taming who.