I've always had a penchant for not being perceived by those around me.
I speculate it has to do with the fact I never thought I'd be alive this long.
In all honesty, I thought I'd have taken my life by now.
I never imagined I'd make it this far.
Most days I feel as if I haven't, and I'm just an illusion of a person.
Wistfully passing day by day,
Without purpose.
That would explain why it's so exhausting to be noticed,
Reaching out through the void.
Perhaps it could also explain why I cannot succumb to all that I desire:
Substance. Belonging. Junction.
But still I remain; opposing my own convictions,
Bearing some semblance to penance.
No comments:
Post a Comment