Routine is nothing more than repetition.
Whether it begins with the best of intentions
or starts out of necessary convention,
it always leads you in the same direction
and devolves from sure procession
into a chaotic depression.
A quiet collapsing
of
your own world
around you.
It's a sneaking
claustrophobia,
slowly stealing
your breath
to the point where quiet screams
can't even escape
and only
your thoughts
are left.
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