This broken space is mine

if i sleep, i dream
broken by bathroom breaks
and heavy weighted thoughts
stumbling to rest
in my crowded thoughts
like a pack rat...
only i do not wear my clutter on the outside
only inside it is hard to find space
for peace
searching for king and kingdom
in the dirty walkways
lingering beside the gardens for their comfort
finding little but dusty leaves
wondering at a deeply rooted life, so dry it feels so much
like kindling
a burst of flame might destroy
this tender balance of extremes
compelled like the cyclonic rain outside my window
out of control
but ending is ensured by natures cycles
uninterrupted peace, quiet tickle my dreams
my sleep, deadness if only for a few hours
relief from this heaviness
on my knees, like a tree bent in half by the weight from not being pruned back
this broken space is mine