The crashing of unwashed dishes piled upon my sink,next to my bed, they really stink.

So do I nowerdays when I don’t step foot in the shower, because all is there is a mathmat as chewed up as chowder.

My clothes make up the carpet, I can barely see what was there before.

My underwear making appearances around the corner of every door.

My sheets haven’t been changed in weeks and my pillows covered in dread.

The cleaning cub board untouched it’s been solidified by spiders web.

I really don’t feel like cleaning my house, having a shave or walking about.

I just want to lay in my sorrows until the day passes by and do the same tomorrow until the day that I die.

Podden och tillhörande omslagsbild på den här sidan tillhör Poetry by Jessica Quill . Innehållet i podden är skapat av Poetry by Jessica Quill och inte av, eller tillsammans med, Poddtoppen.