Days, months, years
and I'm still sitting here.
I thought I wouldn't be.
I thought I was aware of what I fear.
It locks me up,
I may never be free.
I'm not meant for this
meaningless monotony,
maybe it's time to get over it;
comfort makes me lazy.
Days all the same
every hour is a mirror
every month a reflection of the last,
this future is a repeating past
where looking ahead
I see what's behind me.
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