You go to turn on a lamp, only to realize the bulb is burnt out
It’s burnt out because it cannot chase for your affection anymore
You get a new one and throw out the old one
It sits in the trash and pouts
It pouts until maybe you find another use for it – but you never do
Although, it still waits in the queue
It wonders if the new light bulb gets treated differently
Better, worse, or just the same?
“Am I the problem?” It thinks, because it doesn’t want you to become the blame
The blame for why it’s in that hell-hole
The reason why it’s depressed
After all this thinking, it realizes there is only one conclusion:
You’re the reason why it’s burnt out
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