pursuit of eudaimonia

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White curtains drift in the serene wind effortlessly exploited.
A room predominately white with a simple hint at gray.
He sits in a chair blocking the door into the bedroom.
There is a dust lurking in plain sight, awaiting redemption.
He covers his face with his hands where they meet a plain white mask.
Sculpted in perfect form around the features, as if they were one.
His eyes inspected the bed for the abstruse atrocity.
One long past yet endures wretchedly to abuse his lucidity.
He stands to leave the wooden chair for only a minute.
Outside the window in the grass of the garden plays a child.
White curtains drift gracefully beside his mask fluently relinquished.
In perfect tranquility a green descendant forsaken to his imagination.
The door behind the chair began to shake savagely.
Swiftly the man returned to his seat to subdue the knocking.
With his elbows resting on his knees and his hands on his face,
he began to secrete a peaceful malady that befriended his tears.
He examined the bed once more in reminiscential muse. 
Nescient to his sin his mind unceasingly contained to these walls.
He left his chair for fewer seconds than before and peered under the mattress.
Beneath was a plain white mask peering directly back at his.
Attached withered remains diminished by diabolical dust.
Eyes took eyes captive with chains of foreboding. 
The door opened from behind him though he kept still.
Footsteps echoed against the floorboards till they halted across the bed.
Bare feet laid at the other end of the room and the man traced them up.
Once his face was eye-level with the mattress he saw the child.
White curtains hang in the vindicable breeze delightfully exposed.

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