I was alone in a poorly lit room,
an unfamiliar arena
where the furniture spoke.
"Again!" They cheered, and I listened.
I faced the chair for one last brawl.
But this time was different.
This time the chair threw a punch
and I was out cold.
Everyone was around.
When I'm old,
I will not knit in the corner,
Swaying back and forth,
Reciting lyrics from my earlier years.
I will never have the leisure of relaxing in a rocking chair.
I will be stationary, recalling a time when rules were not made to be broken.
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