how ironic.

self-quarantine was already
a part of my daily routine
rushing to return
where I can be unseen.

the walls of my bedroom
still leave room
for worries to inflate
until they fill all the space
I have left.

any excuse to be a recluse
felt welcome
but this isn't the outcome
I wanted.

plagued with fear on a daily basis
my oasis has always been tainted
how ironic.
the virus I'm afraid to get near
already lives here
in a brain I can never

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