Allergic!
I am becoming to the putridly soft sheets that I succumb to each night,
Resting as though I had something, anything to wake up to in the deceitful dawn.
Sick! I am becoming
Of the very sight the lavishly stuffed furniture that I perch on each grueling day,
Forcing my mind upon books when I should be applying it to something of pay
Poisoned!
I am by the tea that touches my lips each night,
Perfectly warmed, like the rouge that suffocates my cheeks
Which masks my burning resentment.
Mad!
I am becoming of the mundane,
Cursed, cursed, cursed half life that me and my sisters are forced to uphold,
Stuffing our vain lusts in our rotting souls 
Like stomachs within corsets.