Autocratic Attic

In sane moments we regard only the facts, the case that is. - Thoreau

Upstairs.

Hidden in the airless recesses of what's left of your mind.

Trapped in the cul de sac of your fraudulent reality.

Amongst the figments and filaments of your former self.

In the corner, behind the righteous relics and strands of sacrilegious sanity.

Hiding in the denial of abstraction.

Tucked away in not-so-neat little boxes.

Labeled with your worst, disturbed fears.

Accumulated over the years.

Wrapped in faded, yellowing, tissue paper.

Shrouded by entangling cobwebs and choking dust.

Penny for your thoughts.

Next to that emancipating, one-cent piece of Lincoln.

Declaring, "In God We Trust."

And of Freud, that dignified, old, copper bust.

Both covered in blue-green malachite.

Not knowing who was right.

You know you must go there.

But not today.

You keep lying to yourself.

"I'll get to it tomorrow."

But tomorrow never comes.

You haven't the strength or gumption to release the restless pull-down stairs.

And make your way through the crawl space.

The lonely light bulb has long-since burned out.

You never replaced it.

It's better that way.

So you keep making excuses.

It's too dark.

Too dirty.

Too demoralizing.

Too late.

Too hot.

Too cold.

I'm too old.

It's too damned traumatic.

In resolution's ...

... autocratic attic ...

Author's Note

"There is considerable danger that a man will be crazy between dinner and supper; but it will not directly answer any good purposethat I know of, and it is just as easy to be sane." - Thoreau