Poem / Quarantine Blues

The honest river has flown its course from valleys of each fold of my skin,
as it ends in the mountains where it rebuilds,
just to pollute again.

With each day, I mimic the last one.
I replicate as closely as I can,
but I'm not sure it can last long.

Me and my thoughts have been locked in one room.
Each day I wake up next to some old and some new.
Wondering what the time is,
wondering where my mind is.

Months flew by
and I'm still here
Waiting for the signal of crows--
they will fly in, and flee me today.

But as each morning brings another cup of nothing,
as the rim touches my lips;
I sigh and tell myself again.
A little taste of heaven.
A little taste of hell.
Give yourself the strength
For the circle of life is about to hit you again.

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