But… nowhere is you.
Clutter left.
Wasnt just that to you.
So now it’s mine.

I thought the piles were here 
Because I was taking “care of you.”
No time
No time to take care of my shit…
When really there was no time left
And still… 
Here the piles sit. Worse than ever.
I don’t care to move.
No motivation to complete…
My shit… sits. In piles. 

Where now I have your shit…
           Because it’s not shit at all.
It’s all I have left of you.
I want to carry it…
It represents you.
It’s all I have left
Of you.

So. Here it all sits.
Yet he doesn’t.
And here I sit, surrounded
With almosts…

Well, perhaps what “just was”