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This guilty feeling I can't wash off Not something I can easily payoff Closed the door to social life Tied myself up and for tangled in vines Maybe this is what I deserve For not having the nerve To do things I always wanted to do And pursuing them without further ado I dug my own grave, there is nothing to save This corpse is just rotten flesh and bones And in my bony hands, my phone Making a poem with rhymes Something I haven't done in a while This lonely corpse continues to spectate This insignificant being a slave to fate