Paddy

I oughtn't wonder why my bachelor pad
Has, like itself, gone haywire on me.
It's me that did it; all the things I've had
Are piled up in superfluity,
Books on the floor, and every even place,
Random electronics strewn about
With what might be a half-attractive grace
If there were fewer, but must be, no doubt,
Considered vulgar, given how they lie
Covering the seats, the floor, the table;
And who has done all this? Why, it is I,
Who cause as mess as soon as I am able.
I cannot clean it up, for if I do
I simply will remake it, and worse too.