I know not what I wish for when I wish
that I could change.
I'd do as well to trade retreating
hairline for a case of mange.
To adopt the common value's to believe
the TV's lies
That having more will make me happy—to
hoard, and be dissatisfied.
Perhaps
I ought to be creative rather than pay convenience fees,
But
the bills bear someone else's face. My time is marked for me,
and while supervision rankles, it
straight repels to be adored.
I hate the wrong decisions, but hate
the right ones even more.
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