Thrice-used filter,
I think I am abusing you.
You have tried your best,
but this coffee sucks.
I find it productive,
placing the blame.
The streaks of red
resentment overhead
are settling on my shoulders.
Failure is unstoppable.
Even though you are battered,
soaked to the paper-bone,
and sick of these mornings,
you strain to fill my cup.
Thrice-forced fulfillment,
when will you up and collapse?
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