Obituary for the Overworked

Rifling bubbles engulfed the blue tinted door, it spins and falls separately. Stain them with the cleanliness that you carry. Again and again, day by day. So fulfilling, fully filled to the brim with cloth. Until you are done with the job and now it's time for the dryer. You have no use. You only have purpose until someone can do it better, you have strength until you cycle through your last rinse. No it was not your fault you are overworked and in need of dire rest, so rest. Rest forever because you failed at the one thing you were made to do. How does it feel? No more running, no more bubbles and midnight scented soap, no more grass stained clothes or cycles to drown through, over and over and you should be happy. They let you go, be what you want to be rusting in that landfill you now must call your home.