The Boring Title of a Nothing Thought

What are my frozen states of contemplation Perhaps nothing different than others Who scroll social media endlessly Should I look for wisdom I could analyse the sound bites of friends Who 'need' to stay busy for their sanity Contrasted with that idea My percolated thinking modes Aren't something I run from More a regular call of 'what is this life' Into a cave I've assigned wisdom to But in fact just echoes back at me I'd love to be sorting my thoughts, applying logic and cataloguing But I'm milling around, kicking at boxes, peeping inside and moving on I'm not frozen, I'm just made up of energy and rest, like everyone else I just feel like I contain a tidal wave of thoughts Locked up and unacknowledged But how can I think about that I'm not going to chisel away at it for a poem Behind that barricade might just be an empty space All the extra storage space I need But I'll keep the walls in place Soundproofed, insulated making a mockery of an echo For surely soundproofing should absorb sound Perhaps it's an empty space after all And I have nothing to fear