Routine

their cheap cologne 

their well ironed and propped suits

their finely slick or combed hair

their blue and black ties 

their carrier bags with it thrown over one of their shoulders

holding it up as they walk with it

the putrid and sick routine it must be 

its filthiness and expectations that you must follow

it sickens me dearly

and makes me shiver 

you think you need to do this and do that

but i must refuse

i must refuse

i have to refuse

why should i follow?

do i have to?

i don’t want to

okay…