I visited the rooms of the house the same way
Nothing was different as I walked
Among the weakness and agitation of my inner world
I felt the cold floor to remind the living skin
There was no comfort or acceptance in the air that hung around the room
Anesthesia, or recognize my soul or fled from me
When I was younger women and men who could behave in my body
I still dragged myself around what was left of dignity
Nothing was a bargaining chip
There was the asphalt
The computer
The sound of cello playing in the background
Neither deaf nor blind
I turned around and wanted to sleep
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