Broken Knuckles

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The Sun rises white giving the world a monochromatic scheme,
Accompanied by blurred glasses, aching hats and blue punches.

There must simply be something wrong with me,
Why do i feel parched in the middle of a lake,
feel tired of sleep,
and of the feeling of being awake.

Why do i feel isolated in a crowd,
And overwhelmed alone. 

Only i am to blame.

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