The horizon lost
In the west has
Reappeared in the east.
And again nothing
Has changed.
The coffee cup
Still unwashed,
Scars unfaded,
The summer goes again
Assuring no warmth,
Rains without a lush.
And like a
Psychedelic song
Fashbacks in a loop,
Here I sit turning
Days into weeks,
Months into years.
Addicted to waiting,
Sadness is now
A habit.
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