Plastic stack-a-boxes tower
against the soft and pale walls,
overflowing with liquid paper
and sometimes,
bits escape through the founded boundaries
of my mind.

Strewn haphazardly across the floor,
are windows of memories.
captured pictures of life;
times that long ago vanished
but seem to be today.

Like shoes in the hall,
clanging metal question marks
lie scattered.
It is inevitable to trip
and raise a thousand queries
echoing round and round.

A whiteboard hangs,
scribbled and doodled on so much,
there is no glimpse of a space.
The words seem alive
and scramble to form
people.
A drama unfolds.

Glimpses of possible futures
shimmer with contemplation.
Wisps of ideas take solid form
and invite me
away from the organised mess,
to deep-green jungles.

It's so easy to get lost
in this small space
that is my head.