The One World Was the One You Wrote

I was all the days you chose
To ignore, the calendar
Mind caught in its paper storm.
I made a sheaf of a life,
Feathered sculptures out of notes,
Because I thought I could think.
To control thought is to sculpt

An entire world, but beware:
Likely, thinking's sculpting you.
You can't tell a story dark
Enough for all that black ink
Scribbled on thought's sticky notes.
The mere fact of fiction proves
You hoped for another world.