A square within squares made of squares
Measured off by foot and by inch
What's life but a pattern, repeats
First dirt, then the wash and the rinse.
Each tile laid, a tedious chore
Each one a piece of something more
Come together, still but a floor
Never ceiling, never a door.
Carefully measured monotone
A maze that harbors no escape
Patterns and mess, clutter and stress
And all to make captives seem safe.
But what if somebody broke free?
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