Grey outside, naked trees offer little solace, clouds a mire of possible deluge mixed in with the impossible cold it feels like the Pandora box of miseries is yet to close.
Monotone quality of atmospheric colours receding into hues of slate and tarnished brown with no hope of recovering into a bright lacquer render the mood into a similar greyscale like ashen thoughts.
Today is apocalyptic chic, the ordinary sepia is a mottled grey almost a day before machines took over, the fourth day of an atomic explosion as ash still clings to the skies, a week after our sun died, a month post worldwide cold wave that unhinged the atmosphere.
Today doesn't deserve to be celebrated.
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