In Fifty Words

It's the “be all, end all”
of everything accumulated.
Tiny castles of sand are bogging me down.
... down ... down
I'm falling asleep at the wheel.
These dust-covered piles are so unorganized.
My thought process is working on previously viewed cache, hey, and I can't decipher between right and left, up and down, and up and down.
This spinning sensation is making me nauseous.
My head is so full that I can't hold it up.
Straight is the line that I'd like to walk.
And I miss my comfortable home.