Drawer after drawer. Shelf beyond shelf.
Stacks of my beautiful stuff.
Some of you pristine. Never to be touched by my hand since the day you were tendered.
Some of you used. Worn with the caress of my consumption.
Long forgotten or at the front of my thoughts.
You have a place in my heart.
Or do you?
Must I keep you?
Must I hold on?
Just because you are mine? I possess you.
You are my stuff! My beautiful stuff.
I forgot about some of you until I had room no more.
Then, with all of my might, I knew it was time.
It was time. Time let you go.
My stuff! My beautiful stuff.
Then, my heart and my mind doth continue to battle the war I have set before me.
The Swizzle Stick 
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