It’s Monday morning, so plunge me in the tank again.
Goodbye to fun and reality, now switch on the inane.
The mirror in the bath room sucks light in, it’s insane.
The trudge to the station, the green mile, once again.
Repeated mental torture, can you sense my distain.
A period of limited sensory upload, always the same.
It is sucking the life out of me, now, am I being plain.
Five days taming the raging lion, of stroking the mane.
Obvious in commuters’ eyes, we’re all playing the game.
Only work, everyone does it, just me feeling the pain?
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