Attic-dust

The lone bulb sways and flickers
As I travel up the steep stairs
To the attic of my mind.
A place I know too well.
Balancing on wooden beams of philosophical wanderings, big questions, and endless observations.
Don’t fall through.
Life is as gray as the bits of dust
suspended in the dull light.
Containers everywhere.
The only area where I feel it is okay
to take up space.
Leaning over the last wooden beams,
I peak into the abyss.
I like it.
The way it goes on forever.
But eventually I have to get back,
Back to my emotions, back into my body.
Maybe I was gone for a second.
Maybe I was gone for a day.
But you’ll know I’ve been there.
Because that attic-dust,
It sticks.