Ensconced in my comfy cave
I dwell entirely in my head
a little too long
until the long shadows start jumping
and dancing on the walls

There is no turning away
completely from the past
for just when my skin starts fitting
a specter attacks my psyche
not allowing me total access

I can feather my nest
as best as I can
but there’s no sweeping under the rug
no trash removal service
for the painful garbage littering my soul

Tattered like moth-ridden clothes
locked away too long in the attic
I paste on smiles
heap on witty barbs
to deflect attention from myself

Someday when I’m clothed in more wrinkles
I will be too tired to give much thought to what could have been
But I suspect I will still exist
better off in my dreams
instead of bleak past memories