Lately, my routine has started to root, Even my groceries greet me en-route. “Hey, pick me first, don’t waste the pursuit, You’ll flirt with tofu, dream of fondue, Then boomerang back like you always do.” My couch has memorized my descent, It knows the exact spot where I’ll always be bent. “You again? Same dent? Should I just charge rent? Same slump, same show, same scrolling zone At this rate, I’m basically your first backbone.” I wash the dishes, spoon after spoon, Then—bam!—another one shows up like a jump scare cartoon. Finally done, here comes a pot, that keeps fighting and won’t fit in the lot! Finally yells, “Bro, I’m too big for this spot!” Weekly laundry—my never ending fate, Spins, dries, and piles up like it’s late for a date. “Fold us now,” they chant with flair, “Or we’ll wrinkle up and judge you from the chair” To a point my socks whisper, “Alright, we’re outta here.” Each night I swear, “Tonight I’ll sleep tight,” Lights go off but my screen burns bright. My phone winks,...
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