A word to the wise (is infuriating)

Regret is a dirty pair of chones in the back of the closet. Might not be a big deal. Not at first. You meant to take care of it, but you forgot. Don't even really notice the stench at first. It rankles in that closed space, and unattended it spreads. First the air. The stale air soaks up the smell like a floor mat soaks up spilled coffee. Spreads on. Onto the clothes, the hanging thoughts, the trappings of your subconscious. Feel that? That's your shitty undies. A single pair making enough mess to wreck your whole closet. Before you know it, the paint is peeling off the walls and your once clean little space is a cesspool of complete and utter filth. You'll be throwing out your river shoes by the time it's worked its way into every little space. That sanctuary--your last bastion against a hilarious yet uncaring world--is rotted and wrecked.

Do your fucking laundry.