I have this indescribable need to be heard,

like I’ve never whispered a single word over the course of my life,

like I’ve never uttered an incoherent syllable under the light of the dying sun,

like I’ve never looked into the eyes of another and truly felt seen. 

Am I alone? 

Am I floating here, lost in the waves of a turbulent sea,

waiting for a lifeboat that will never...

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When we die,

We'll be forgotten,

But what can we say when

We're forgotten

While alive?

What am I to think

When I am invisible?

When I am cast aside?

When I am the problem?

Who is there to see me for me?

Does death then hold no meaning?

Is death even worth fearing?

Or is it rather embraced

As a means of escape

From those who

Don't care

At all?

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