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Pitch
My coffee that is as dark as pitch makes the world a blur, an overwhelming haze
Dry grounds are there to stay, this month has been one hell of a maze
Molten resin and a dim light, coldness they beat
A loud radiator spreading some heat
I wonder what my neighbour is doing while questions remain unanswered
The given task seems boring, if my mind was a book, it`d be censored
A blanket, seven of those actually, and a pillow
Next to me tempting, the load is a billow
Desk remains piled and messy
I sleep.
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