Volume decreases, the world’s cacophony besets me.
I stare ahead, unsure of my departure time.
These are my mornings when that gingerbread house calls,
Beckoning me to serve faithfully within its walls.

I know not whether this will last for weeks or months,
But my plan is to break free by the summer’s end.
For these duties leave my mind to its own devices,
Its thirst masked with all manner of disguises.

When that temporal landlord comes to collect,
It gets harder every week to pay my dues.
Yet I harness what focus I have left, and lo,
Progress is made, however miniscule and slow.

Such are my days, fraught with lost time and lost motion.
Alas, conversely much has been gained and been enjoyed.
This labyrinth has been dreary, desolate, dank.
But even so, brightly lit, and I have you to thank.

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