Kalopsia PT 2

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Wooden floors creak under bare feet
Afternoon light comes through high windows
Joy should be filling the empty holes
But warm tea instead trickles in
Damp hair wrapped in cotton
Baggy clothes and books over skin
Where is the passion I sought
Hidden beneath my shell
I find her there
Laying dormant
Sleeping for however long it may take
Little black dogs
With snoring breaths
Lay across my blanketed lap
No one ever told me
That purgatory
Would be so comfortable
But numbing all at once

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