Wrote this sometime in college, probably senior year.

I sit in my room
My room in disarray.
I'm surrounded by liquor bottles, cigarette butts, and an over-riding smell of bong resin.
These items consume my life, suck it away.
But I persist
Textbooks and spirals lay all over my room, unused, undisturbed, except for the numerous parade of visitors that stop in, making room to sit.
My computer lies in pieces, not yet ready to use.
A useless relic of a once great "mind" that produced many profound and insightful tidbits.
But I persist
My room is cramped, full to the brim.
But daily I will try and jam in more stuff to make it feel comfortable.
It is stuffy, my spirit can't breathe in this room. It lies under murky waters gasping for air, not able to grasp a single breath, slowly dying, but immortal, so the touch of death slips off its slim shoulders.
But I persist
My Bible still resides in its lofty position, but has gathered dust from lack of use and the weight of other books I've placed atop it.
The burning incense pretends to bring some sense, but it merely covers up the rancid smell of stagnation and decay.
I sit in my room.
My room in disarray
I sit in my life.