Ground Control

The are no feelings in this place. They are kept outside the huge bay window near the.. part? It is hard to say if it would be the front yard, as I can't tell direction here anymore. Every day a new door finds its way to these walls. 

When I close my eyes my mental walls are halls lined with them; doors of all sorts, with different knobs, and key holes, some hinged, others fringed with hippie beads (perhaps only when I'm stoned). 

I can wander and roam for hours. In my younger youth (as 28 is still somewhat youth-ee I hope) I was prone to be alone a lot. It gave me time to plot paths and stashes of little known facts. A bunch of bullshit really, but then there was a period where some of the halls were just shadows and creepy tombs past any portal formed there in those outlets of this mental structure. 

I had to bother myself to really getting around to replacing those light bulbs, and so with a little dusting and a trip to "lows" and back, I got some lights back on.  

How ideal right? 

I suppose it is how I deal, by making light of situations. Any paraphrasing I can construe breaks open latches and breaches rooms together. Merged in the spaces past all the faces of doors unlached, staring at me. Daring me to enter, my minds an adventure at all times, or one waiting to happen.

I can skip merrily about, and yes sometimes I'll stop by that HUGE bay window, and observe the front yard, but not so much when it's raining. 

I sit there viewing my garden of feelings, planted out front for all to see. Sadly my thumb is not a green one but it still has grown some things (yeah it has weeds)

Yet, when shown in the right light, say dusk, or twilight, there is a real beauty to it, but these times are rare. 

Plus I've too much to do in all of these rooms to spend too much of my time sitting  there.