I am slowly realizing that I am no one. I feel as if my significance in others lives is all but gone (as if it was there.)
I always walked the path I felt with my heart. I am nothing. I am a hypocrite. I am a liar. The pressures of living
and the pressures of being alive deteriorate (within myself i am laughing.) I move in moments. Moments.
Greater
than
you
or
I.
Time has shown to heal most everything. But being plagued by the shells of old ghosts has made me tired. I grow
tired of the prodding feeling of burying the insides of disease. My faith stands. Brittle and cold. The feeling of
hearing my last breath exit my lungs and the cries come from all who care so dearly. I am sorry. My time is
not now but i have stolen the clock. I have no desire to wind it again. I pass through you like a ghost with no
beginning or with no ending. I have seen the despair. I am despair.