The 8th Month lifting myself up repeatedly deadweight took over me lost in days. nothing to aspire towards an eternal cycle and ample grey skies lost in uncertainty. a barrier of contact made illness even time was drunk and we were stuck lost in obstacles....
Windows to the Soul As hugs turn into virtual high-fives And pajamas become our cocoons, As sanitizer turns into a balm for our weary nerves And TP becomes our most prized possession, We lumber out of hibernation every morning With nowhere to go but the couch....
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