Mourning Comfort

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The day has ended

Normal routine

With friends

Taking in the bland oatmeal

It could use some sugar

I sure could use some

I change to my prickly sweater

Inside is a soulless space

The ugly black hole comes back bigger

It is ravenous

It needs me

I need it

I take the silver plate on my arm

The black hole seasons my arm with silver lotion

Then it slowly but surely takes my arm

It replaces the flesh arm to a robotic one

I get accustomed to this routine

It gives me tears of despair happiness

A love that was never always there

A normal routine

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