The Chair

If existence was reality, what would the chair be,
Some days it holds my weight
And other times my baggage

As I dial the only comforting number on my phone,
My chair is leaning back.
It asks me to rest on its chest, I oblige

My eyes are staring at the screen,
Elbows have been overly used
My chair holds my arms and soothes them

As i patiently zone out,
The call is never picked
And my chair peacefully puts me to sleep.