I swear they're trying
to drive me insane.
Six inches by two,
underwear
& my **** socks
so neatly stocked.
No creases on my hanging slacks,
my T-shirts are perfect,
look at my boots shine.

But surely, I'm ******* mad,
there's a speck of dust
under my bunk,
how'd I miss that imperfection?

My luck really ***** bad,
those brown-rounds
have left me another
mountain of tossed-clothes.
I feel myself slipping,
I'm losing my mind,
'cause I gotta do this **** all over again,
for the thirteenth time.