The mess keeps piling up.
In the storage room
the number of empty boxes
keeps growing.
In the wardrobe
the number of outfits that are
too small, too big
keeps increasing.
In the corners which are
always too neglected,
the dust just keeps
building up
until I cough myself
half-dead.
On the kitchen counters
the food stains
are getting harder
to remove.
The mess keeps piling up.
More and more useless information
is congesting the current
of my brain nerves.
More and more memories
are weighing me down
until light innocence
is too burdened to move.
And so we clean things
and throw things
and hopefully - recycle.
Chuck out the old and moldy
the dusty, outdated
so we have more room
for the new.
But it feels like
carving out brain-bits
Particles of the past.
Erasing the evidence
for my memories
so I may doubt
that they existed.
So maybe
my past was always
wrong
if it must be
deleted.
I don't like throwing things away.
Yiling Ding
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spring-cleaning-5/
