Their are boxes
and boxes,
and it's all
piling up
over time, over lots of time.
There's a lot of it.
It's all useless,
and I don't care about it.
And it sits there
in my stomach,
and it mumbles things.
I don't think that it's in a
particularly
good mood.
Maybe because I don't care about it.
It sags,
and every time I walk by it
I think of
her.
And it's taking up space.
        
        "What the ****,
are you still doing here?"
                yelling, I'm yelling now.
        "You are useless, and I wish
that you would go away."

But she doesn't go away.