hoarding

why is there no space
no place i can lay?

why is my area so paced? 

why does it feel like my back cracked
because i can't find a place to rest these old bones?

these old stones 
i use to throw into the lake 

the ripple 
one two three thousand 

boxes filled of memories i cling to 

like a child clings to her mother 

like the mother i only knew from a Kodak

an empty space cluttered with things 

all these things crawl up the walls 

things i know don't move but they escape 

like everything i've ever loved 

and here i am holding on to words that he never meant

money that i'll never spend 

and dreams i only chase when i'm running from people judging me

here i am the hoarder 
holding on to nothing 

who are you?