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Sunday, 10 May, 2020

Fretful like wind in the chimney breast.
Is the world still out there?
I suppose. In some sense, somewhere.
Guilty, bored, depressed.

I couldn't be arsed getting dressed
Or brush my hair.
Between various meals I stare
At the TV without interest.

Let today be done.
Sweep it away.
Pointless guff.
The hour has run.
Nothing to say.
Enough, enough.
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