clothes are piled three feet deep.
the odor’s so bad I cannot sleep.
pizza covered with penicillin and cheese
is stuck to the animal covered in fleas.
a glass of liquid, moldy and green
is atop my dresser, waiting to be seen.
a cockroach, full of pride,
just crawled across the pile and died.
yes, this is my room, and no, it’s not clean.
bedrooms should be heard from and never seen.
so, if you want a surprise horrid and scary,
just pop your head in my room but be weary.
if something grabs you by a limb,
that’s just the monster—his name is jim.
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