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ironic I’m willing to dwell in asylum

This feeling won’t leave me,

It presses harder with my footsteps.

What is it, following me ceaselessly,

Keeping me alert wherever I am?

If you ask me, I won’t give an answer.

You told me to write it down—so I started leading a diary.

Anyone would confuse my notes for a psycho’s.

It’s ironic that I’m willing

To dwell in asylum.

Because—

I worry about people who don’t deserve it.

I’m scared I’ll forever be skulking from problems.

And why do I only feel happy and free

When I daydream, walking in circles for years?

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