Disorganized By joshua Ikeda

He often retreated to a world of fantasy, say the bookshelves by his bed, and he felt that experiences and the written word held great power, says the worn journal with a damaged binding. He had trouble managing his life, say the watches and clocks kept around his room.

He felt empty, says the Christmas tree with no decoration, and came to ha have no care for work, says the closed binder on the cluttered desk, but he felt music could always be there for him, says the open trumpet case. He felt he was trapped in a dark world with little guiding radiance, say the lonely candles in the dim room, but he believed there was a greater light somewhere, says the bright lamp on the wooden desk, for he was a man of faith, says the picture of Jesus on the table.

This in mind, he'd find himself willing to continue his daily life, say the backpack and small cardboard schoolhouse. He was ready to put away the past, says the drawer of old old notebooks and papers. It was time for time to see the world through a clear and unclouded perspective, says the pair of glasses on his desk.

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