My room is a mess and so is my life
The clothes on my floor are a metaphor for the
havoc in my head, weighing me in bed.
An endless supply of sweatshirts on my desk chair
remind me of the stress piling up due to
things to do, stuff to complete,
and quite honestly I’m ready to admit defeat.
Perfume bottles gathered and toppled over
they tempt me to try and disguise my chaos--
but I refuse, and then I lose them
so if I ever wanted to try, I can’t.
And instead of doing anything about it,
all I ever do is rant.