Entire days spent chasing suits
that don’t exist
and serve no purpose,
Tearing money out of pocket
just to find
door-like cable box––
A bleary disillusionment
sweeps like ice
across kindled hope,
And each bit of anxiety
falls away
and turns to anger
At wasting days under pretense,
swindled out
of dear volition


About andrewwhiting

A sentimental and sarcastic poet, lover of language, traveling and nature (not a fan of the Oxford comma).
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