autism

doomsday book

fragmented pieces of broken mind

Doomsday book

 

I watch the teabag sink like a buoy lost at sea,

And play with my soggy branflakes,

As the news remains the same;

Raindrops tap with elegance

On my windowsill,

As blue skies turn to dust,

I fetch my doomsday book,

And prepare for my fate.

I get lost under cries of the gods,

With which I pull my hood for shelter.

My advisor asks me of any changes

I swiftly reply with a nod.

I exit with this thought:

If I continue to persevere

These visits will soon disappear.

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