I have made in my head
it’s too warm and too small
not much comfort at all
but it’s here that I lie
as the day passes by
I’ve tried to get up
but I’ve tried’s not enough
so I watch the sun pass
through the curtains and glass
think of what makes a day
when I last felt okay
wonder why I’m still here
having nothing to say
the world is on fire
I’m a funeral pyre
looking out at the mess
from the edge of my nest
knowing I am not cursed
and it could be much worse
but I still want a match
and I still pray for rain
and when I fall asleep
I’ll still wake up again
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