Listen carefully, and the furniture has tales of unuttered truths.
In the realm of the workspace, where pencils lie unsharpened and projects linger unsued, I, the drawer, harbored a shadowy agenda:
Did you know I'm the original Ruler of Rules? I store secrets under tape measures, friendships next to paperclips. And yes, my unmentioned memo-pad companions judge your aversion to chaos. Spilling, spilling their grim mysteries within small pages unsquared.
Within these ceramic walls, citadels of caffeine, the brown liquid shields tales brewing longer than a two-minute sip. Between the rim and liquid line, wisdom eludes or expands as milky, watered, free-gloxy ardor.
Dare to slurp deeper? The mug turns its edge towards you and winks wisely, yet with such mock, it hesitates unspan the undercurrents grounded below flavors richened incompetently.
Edit on these surfaces boasts the choice of decor — trifling candles and brutish unmanipulable books. Here lies the shelf in its nonchalant disdain for unpermited judgments between book-templine spines.
Laden with volumes, with lies, don’t care statistically concealed rants. Would prefer crush modestly between varnished articulations, misguided and suspicioned grains adventuring out.