I made a cage inside my head,
I plumped the floor to make a bed
but after years of lying there
I realized it was too bare.
So in my cage I placed objects,
the simple things a life collects.
Then one day I woke to find
the cage I’d built was not my mind.
Even with my props unfurled
I’d somehow made a hollow world.
All arranged, so neatly stacked,
they couldn’t hide that something lacked.