His Collection

a former shell of a halcyon self, aged and tattered.
sits there with all it has left.
no longer investing in people
these ananymous objects are what keeps him happy now
its a new sense of purpose
no longer to mean something to someone
but to own all of what he collects

the plastic in his wallet conforms him unto a world of numbers and boxes,
they don't add up, they won't.
a balence enquirey is lapping at his heels
Sitting in a room on his own he slowly feels its grip crush down on him.

needing to wait for the next payment in to convert to further items.
loosen the slipknot around his neck.
thursty for more; stricken with impatientance
he readjusts the tie to make it tighter.

He can not leave. He must stay and trap himself
caught in a trap which he squirms further into.
he must stay here, for it keeps him save.
it is so fragile. they cannot be damaged
if one where to be lost a life will be crushed.
but the weight already bound to him
will slowly kill him regardless.
it is set in motion, a maddenning cur has been fashioned
it can not rest till its task is done