In my lime-green room there lives a pink chair.
I say "lives" because it is no doubt a friend of mine
Much too loyal.

Every day, I come home from school
And no, I don't sit in it.

I dump my backpack into its plush folds
Lay my outfit for the next day across the top
And it certainly hates me for it.

I hardly even look at it;
It's a cheap, hand-me-down chair
from somebody that I used to know.

It's a sickly pink(my least favorite color) and
It doesn't go with my room at all.

When chairs gain artificial intelligence
I am definitely screwed.
Not sitting in a chair
Will be a crime
And I, a criminal for mistreating objects.

By that time, I will be putting my briefcase into a nice chair
New, shiny, and not pink.
I will like this chair.
My friend the pink chair will live
In a dump.

I use "friend" in the case of the pink chair
Because once it's gone
My room will be devoid of friends
I will live somewhere else
And I will remember the ugly, plastic, cheap
Pink chair
And hope that it makes a new friend

A better friend than me