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Michaela Ferris Jan 2021
The fog is like a locked door
Without any key.
The candle is at the end
With little wick to burn
There is no longer a light at the end of the tunnel
Just a moving train, hurtling at full speed.
The night is never ending
Longer with each passing hour
And the cold, it lingers
Like a never ending winter.
My mind, soul and body has succumbed
To the dark thoughts it held dear long ago

— The End —