You must think the world
is a dark oven mirror
where you bake frozen food
for your screaming children.
The sound of lint scratching
the carpet, the cat hair
choking the furniture,
the plastic wrap melting
into your diet,
your mortgage,
untouchable,
like your man
the popcorn ceiling
stares you down,
in your catatonic state,
your eyelids manage to mutter
Where did we go wrong?
The room goes on and on
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