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On the hanger, in the drawer
The clothes are gathered and put neatly in the basket, from there they are attracted to some hands and hung upon the brackets. Don't forget the shirts that must be put in drawers away away they go finding light no more.
Taken out and shuffled they lay across the ground, for such a organized mind he cannot handle more. Stepped on and filthy, he barley sees the floor. Picked up on occasion, but not to be wore, this boy is very tired and losing all control.
Black and dirty, used as rags more then clothing as was born, confusing such is the nature of dirty laundry and whores.
What on earth is happening, there's a hamper in the drawer, but no one puts away something he used to wear, attracting some allure. The clean-up is slow; not really sure...What if proof is offered of the clothes someone could have worn. Tell me this lie is fucked, but please dont swear anymore; such foul language for garments that were once pure.
Dreadfully tired and picking through the floor; no more boy is there for the clothes to be wore.
