My head is a
And each thought a person
Who walks from one side to the
Other – performs his task
And then walks out

But sometimes,
There is a thought who flits
Near the top
In no particular order

And he says
Not quite loudly enough
That it should cause alarm

“I think today’s the day I’ll

Most days he just flies back out
He performed his task
But his words
They echo,
And stay
And drip down
From the ceiling

Some damp water rot

It curls the paper

But the thoughts just go on,
And continue
Like nothing ever happened
Because that’s right
Nothing ever happened.

But if he comes in
And says his piece
And one of those thoughts happen to
And look up

He’ll become bigger
He’ll sink
And he’ll stay

And he’ll say
Just a little louder than before

(You gave him substance, why?)

“I really mean it
Today’s the day I am going to

And he won’t really walk out
Because he isn’t really done

He’s heavy,
And he makes the air heavy

No one can breathe
And then
Someone else will sit down
And say

“I’m tired
What’s the point?”

And then the heavy one’s task is done
And he’ll leave

While the thoughts still move
Just a little more slowly
Because nothing seemed to matter
As much as it did
Just a moment before

And in an hour,
He’ll come back.
And he won’t say anything
But everyone will try
To stare

And watch him
From their respective corners
And their tasks will get that much less

He’s great for

And he’ll open his

And they’ll stop and

But he won’t say Anything
He’ll just walk back out

And then a frenetic
Energy might take place
The thoughts will rush
To finish all
They can before

Before he comes back
But he’ll be back
Too soon

And he’ll say

“I think I’m going to jump

And this time
It becomes a

Chant- mantra

A storm of whispers and murmurs
Which grows and swells
To shouts and screams

Until every thought is chaos
Heavy and stifling

And no one can breathe
And all you want to do is

*   *   *

Deborah Wiseman is a 25 year old who cannot write a bio to save her life and can be found on Facebook

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