JOYFULLY GREY

This room is cold, it smells of stale air and burnt coffee…

There was more to life than this… but seems that I have forgotten what the more was to consist of

and now he it all comes to a culmination…

Where would it be in a year, or five…

Why will this be the only thing I know to be reality?

When there was more, it was plentiful…

But when there’s none, it is joyful…

solitude is the greatest gift given to a person like me…

Locked away in a mind of grey…

 

 

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