My life is an overflowing hamper
To which I refuse to wash
Although I try to pick up the mess
A new mess starts
As clothes fall out one by one
And for everyone one article picked up
Another one is displayed across the floor
To the point where I don't even try with the mess anymore
And I'm just walking over clothes like they're an art piece
In this case the renowned artist is me
And a week from now, from when I gave up making this mess clean
I complain
And complain
And complain
As if I expect someone to pick up this mess I've made
Someone other than me