The need to clean.

 Dust and stuff... Do lay around.

 Each shelf it covers, up... And down.

 The thought of cleaning... Comes to mind.

 "Of course it happens..." From time to time.

 Admist the "mount" of dish, the bench who never shine... Is hid.

 And a never used, new brush! Supposed to be... I think?

 The bed! Untucked and free... Free for bugs, and tucked for steeds.

 A yellow tub, with a mans long hair. A guy don't care... Stereotypic as bears.

 Some windows with dots, from the rain... And what not. Brush the dead leaves aside, let for once... Air inside.

 To much stuff in the rug, such as hair and foot "fluff"? Just an hour go by, get its contents... "Bye, bye."

 Is there something you've missed? Like the dirt, you had skipped.

 When they said... "Its okay."

 To complain... All the same.

 Stuff and dust... Comes... Again.