Your home should be condemned catastrophic condition
Like a monument of trash
Kept in first position

© Delia Ross. 2021 / @poeeternal

I think I may be a baby hoarder 👀

Like why do I have so much stuff 👀

Dying is fucking hard, I’ve been trying to get my affairs in order 👀

I always knew I was gonna die from heart troubles 👀

Told my kid that it’s not actually junk, it’s just all out and about 👀

My intellectual property is chaos 👀

That bill may be poetry scribbled 👀

I do it on toilet paper too 👀

Paper napkins 👀

Nothing is junk 👀

Although I could do with less clothes 👀

But I don’t actually know how to part with anything 👀

My kid said it’s because we’re poor and will never get it again 👀

Psychological and I do place attachments on things 👀

It’s not a t-shirt with a hole, it’s a memory 👀

And instead of fixing our hoarding issues, I told them that while it may feel overwhelming, they’d want the stuff. Put it in storage when I die until you can go through it. 👀

Don’t let anybody in the fam take advantage of your mental state after I die and take the stuff 👀

So I’ve contributed to their hoarding problem as well 👀

Albeit, I’m not actually hoarding trash but I haven’t been left alone with my own property, I’d probably have a tunnel dug to hell 👀

Trespassers shot on sight 👀

I am the dog 👀

Might catch me howling under the Moon 👀

Stood up too fast tonight and started slipping into death 👀

Shit getting real 👀

And my heart won’t stop hurting 👀

K, thanx, goodbye