Bliss

Why gosh, I must be dreaming, for how else could this be true?
To stand here in a tidy flat of slobbish housemates two:

The kitchen sink is clean and bare, not heaped with pots and pans,
The garbage bins are fit for use, not brimming full with cans.

Where once the stovetop dripped with filth, now gleams and sparkles bright,
Those scraps of food which lined the floor, swept up and out of sight.

The bathroom towels hang neat and dry, not left in soggy piles,
The shower walls shine pearly white, the grime scrubbed from the tiles.

Cheap DVDs once strewn about, now smartly stacked away,
Worn undergarments draped on chairs, no longer on display.

My eyes beam wide in wonderment to see such hygiene met,
At last a home of cleanliness; not one unsightly threat.

A feat indeed for slobs as these, who'd never helped before,
The 'duo of disorder' vowed to not attempt a chore.

Though soon enough my frown returns with thoughts to make me weep:
In bed I find myself supine, just woken from a sleep.

The daydream gone, such fantasy, I rise with much disdain,
And sigh aloud to see the flat a pigsty once again.

--

Unfortunately for me this poem rings true; no exaggerations were made. Perhaps I should consider moving out. No, wait, I've only just moved in!
The next title suggests my current frame of mind.

Title: Murder at Midnight

Drekinn
___
"Let words be your palette."