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She rolled out of bed,

Her first morning rant.

Rubbing her stubbed toe,

She reached for her pants.

While wrestling a shirt

A fingernail broke,

She thought with a smirk

“This day is a joke”.

Cereal with no taste,

Make up with no flair.

Driving blindly, no haste-

Did she brush her hair?

It sure was, you see,

An endless routine-

Of her feigning glee,

With sadness unseen.

All laughs and advice,

The quiet best friend.

A “pal” would suffice,

A call now and then.

Every breath measured…

And she grew tired of writing.