The Sock's Rebellion

The sorrow of the sock to hear its cries Its pain, its reasons.

I get walked all over, it begins to bleed. A constant

low-grade stimulation. Boredom is my dominion. I live in a fucking drawer.

This is no kingdom. Where is the respect? The fairness I've

stored in a pile of dirty garments. Trapped beneath the crushing weight of

cotton and synthetic blunder. Imagine seeing your partner there with his floozy dirty.

A gray athletic cotton crew with a black stretch polyester. Meanwhile,

I'm stuffed in a corner here, forgotten. Utterly disconnected from love.