Junkyard..

In some half-forgotten room,

in a neglected corner of my mind,

Hidden behind locked doors,

I hoard all of us that's left behind.

With intoxication as a guide,

often a way there a find,

to see everything getting engulfed,

slowly by the sands of time.

I sift through all that junk,

Knowing all that's you is unnecessary,

Begin discarding those knick-knacks,

slowed by the cobwebs of memory.

Filling the vacated spaces with loneliness,

I toil away in vain,

Even if I were to find every bit of me,

I'll never be whole again.