I keep dropping everything for you,
but you won't help me pick anything up.
Instead, you drag me away from my pile of things,
so we can pick up yours, and go back to that place.
That place isn't my favorite, in fact it's the worst.
I can't speak, or sleep, or even eat.
I'm suffocating in this casket you keep me in,
while all my things grow mold and become so overwhelming.
So overwhelming, which means it's hard to face them.
And so my pile of things keeps growing,
and I keep helping you clean and organize-
in the hopes that you'll help me clean up just a little bit of my own.