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Oct 2017
The familiar whirlwind of emotion rises up again,
a never-ending cycle of heavy, dark clothes,
a few light delicates throw in, barely visible  
and fading
This weekly ritual, the pauses, the tone,
memorized down to the digit.
I grow weary, carrying out the motions and
Dreaming of the end, hanging it all out to dry
to be embraced by the ever-welcoming sun and its
loving, warm rays.
Written by
EmilyBatdorf  F
   NuBlaccSoul and Mila
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