It’s a drag

A drag. Getting up,
Getting dressed,
Getting to work,
I try to not think
About the routine.
I hate crazies,
And lazies,
The overanxious,
The insincere.
People. I am weary.
At home, it’s a drag
Annual leave is far,
Jobs close soon,
I don’t want a job
For next year.
Weekends, I sleep
And awake to attend
To the tirade
Of questions, thoughts
That were buried.
I wish I was buried too.
Nothing, is exciting
Nothing, to anticipate
Writing too
Is a drag, I’m tired.

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