A fleeting moment passes staring into the darkness With an impulse procrastination That has defined the past week Or has it been a month? So long that guilt presses against the wall As the toss of another empty water bottle Hits the floor. Unbeknownst is the reality That the room has become a physical embodiment Of the headspace lived in. Staring some nights At the darkness Because it’s easier than shining a light And cleaning up this week’s mess. Maybe you feel that you don’t deserve To have a clean room Because of a voice reminding you Of all of them you couldn’t help. How do you deserve a clean room, When you can’t help anyone? But you must know That the glass can only build so much pressure Before the shatter And the glass can only pour so much Before it runs out of itself. You must know That cleaning your room Creates more space to fill with something else; How can you help someone If your glass is empty And the pressure continues to pile on? How can you change the world If you can’t even clean your room?