I feel Augustinian
I feel all alone
What if I'm not ready to get better?
Sickness is familiar,
Without it I don't know
I'm not allowed to talk about it until it's just a memory
Will I live to remember?
I don't want to go:
There's some demented pleasure here,
I wish I was never even sick
Then I'd stay the same
I guess what I really hate is that I'm forced to change
My illness is all I have
So I love it still
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