Two hours of pointlessness left
just to break even with bills
complacency quietly kills
the urge to examine the weft
which leads to a shuddering smash
that mars the impeccable weave
compelling a craftsman to grieve
as pride and impertinence clash
more harshly than one might presume
to tragically trigger a trend
of blindly accepting the end
when losses alarmingly loom.
Are You Reading Me?
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