wandering around inside my head
i trip over memories of the past.
clutter needing to be tossed out
like this mornings coffee grounds.
i tiptoe around a spinning wine bottle,
an image of dad, broken, walking away
suitcase in hand.i trip over myself huddled
in my bed under the covers, hearing
what i am certain is the devils voice
beckoning me to come down these
stairs. but the house has no stairs.
piles of memories are every where.
reminders of a broken childhood
of sadness.but i'm sure that if i seach
long enough, i'll find smiles,
and laughter, scattered among the
tears and pain, as i wander around
inside my head.