If this is a portrait of you; why are you sitting on an open drawer? Are you all alone? Is the next drawer above you, also open, filled with spoons, spices, heavy with rare coins, or packed full of deep fried platypuses?
People are peeking out through holes in your clothing so let me ask you: are these people you, from ages past? Do you, as a six year old, sometimes play with your food while sitting in a four star restaurant because you’re again six and decided you don’t like the taste of something, although it had a pretty name on the menu? Do you pile the stuff up in an impressive mound then dive bomb it with your desert fork?
Perhaps those living with you, inside your clothing, are friends and enemies who have affected and formed you? Are they different functions and personality traits of yours? Maybe they’re zombie vampires eating away at you from the inside? Maybe their names are Smoking, or Over Eating Brownies, or Alice?