An Office Made of Brain

My mind is an office made of

Continuous concepts constructed to

Confidently confine me to my senses.

The filing cabinet keeps tiping over

Leaving lines lingering around,

Lonely and Lost.

One thought can take over leaving me

Deliriously day dreaming in directions

Of decaying dreams I one day hoped to achieve.

With Papers flying around, they bring new ideas

To fill the brain built of bombarding bees

Buoyant of beloved brand new honey. 

The office computers don’t work so

Paper promises to perfectly prepare

The purpose of life for me. 

What is the purpose of life?

Continuous concepts constructed to

Confidently confine me to my senses.