*"404: Serenity Not Found"*

(Verse 1)

My neighbor’s dog barks at the mailman like it’s pay-per-view,

But I got bigger problems—my Wi-Fi’s down and so’s my *mood*.

Tried to reboot, now my router’s stuck inside a bowl of soup,

Guess I’ll just sit here naked, scrolling memes in *buffering* loops.

(Pre-Chorus)

Oh no, oh no, my pizza’s cold,

Delivery guy took a detour through the *Twilight Zone*,

I tipped in exposure—now he’s blocking my phone,

*This is fine*, I’ll just eat cereal… alone.

(Chorus)

*Chaos is my cardio*,

My life’s a blooper reel set to demo,

From my plants dying *dramatically slow*,

To my dating profile: *"Will elope for dough."*

(Verse 2)

My ex texted, "U up?" like a cryptid in the night,

I replied with a GIF of a dumpster set alight.

Now they’re crying in my DMs ’bout their *rebound’s* weak game,

Meanwhile, I’m Googling *"Can spite fuel a flame?"*

(Bridge 1)

*Hold up—* did my cat just side-eye me?

Yeah, she judges harder than my *therapy*,

Knocked my coffee over like a *tiny god of war*,

Now my laptop’s screaming *"404."*

(Chorus)

*Chaos is my cardio*,

My credit score’s a *horror show*,

But at least my *vibes* are *radioactive glow*,

And my laundry pile’s achieved *sentient growth*.

(Verse 3)

Tried adulting—*big mistake*,

Burned my toast and my *self-esteem* at stake.

My résumé says *"Professional napper,"*

LinkedIn’s like *"Ma’am, we beg you—unplug the blender."*

(Bridge 2)

*Plot twist*—my plants *faked* their death,

Turns out they’re just *drama queens* with *extra zest*,

Now they’re thriving *out of pure revenge*,

And I’m here clapping like *"Okay, legends."*

(Verse 4)

My therapist said *"Journal your rage,"*

So I wrote *"Why is my toaster judging my life choices?"* in crayon on page…

Eighteen. Now she’s charging *extra*,

For *"interpreting abstract rage as modern art."* Fair.

(Pre-Chorus 3)

Oh no, oh no, my *standards* left,

They packed a U-Haul with my *dignity* and *common sense*,

Now I’m swiping right on *red flags as décor*,

And my *standards* texted *"We’re never coming back… unless there’s s’mores."*

(Chorus 3)

*Chaos is my cardio*,

My life’s a *sitcom* with *no reruns*,

From my *fridge humming show tunes at 3AM*,

To my *ex’s new boo* liking *all my memes*.

(Bridge 3)

*Final boss*—my *sleep paralysis demon*,

Just asked *"You good?"* and handed me *a lemon*,

Now we’re *vibing* to *lo-fi beats of existential dread*,

And my *cat* just filed for *joint custody of the bed*.

(Epic Ending)

So here’s my *manifesto* in *minor key*,

*"I didn’t choose the chaos—it kinda chose me."*

Now I’m *curtsying* to *disaster* like *"Encore,"*

As my *fire alarm* sings *"Happy birthday… to the floor."*