i am nothing
but a memory
a thought or a forgotten dream

i am nothing                  
but my emptiness
my vicious goals and my silent screams

When suddenly life feels bleak
And memories and hopes start to leak
I can't help but wonder
What would happen until I go under

Would I get my happily ever after?
Would I get to hear her tinkling laughter?
Would someone go that extra mile
Just to make me smile?

If I wanted to share my fears
Would someone lend an ear?
A little insecure
Humour is my shield
When I feel like hiding
I wield rather than yield

My friend wrote a poem for me
That moved me to tears
I'll keep it safe
And treasure it for years

I'm a hoarder by nature
Cause I worry for the future
What if one morning
Memories start to get misty without warning
Now that I'm on this airship
Have to take precautions so I don't slip

Riches never really tempted me
It's the memories that matter
A gold pouch or a photograph?
I'd choose the latter

I want to leave a mark
Like Noah's Arc
Something to remember me by
I hope people don't call me 'that guy'

My parents' love I can't forget
Especially my mother's
I wouldn't be the person I am
If it wasn't for her

If I die
And don't get to say goodbye
Would my loved ones weep?
Would my memories in their heart keep?

I fear
That people would cheer
After all,
Who even wanted me here?

I wonder who will stay by my side
Till I'm old enough for dentures
But to those who do stay
Thank you for this adventure

In an age of social media and technology
We waste away so many hours of our days
Scrolling through snapshots
Of incredible things and places
From all over the world and beyond
We are so amazed by
These glimpses
Of other peoples lives
That we often forget
To live our own.

I wish I could hold the night. It doesn't stay long enough. I hardly get a taste of it. I'm stuck in my room, trying to sleep. But I can't. If my bed had wings, I'd fly into the night and I'd see the world without colour and imagine I was the one painting it.
                                                        -What would you use?
I'd improvise. I'd use words. Words have colour, you know. Voices. Thoughts. Music.
                                                      -What type of music?
The type of music that makes you feel life is worth living. That somehow, everything has a place, even when it doesn't.

I sometimes wonder about the clouds. They have everything they could ever imagine - nutrients, beauty, a breathtaking view on the top of the world. They're friends with the stars. Yet, they wander. Hopelessly. The sky is different every day because the clouds keep on moving, floating to nowhere. And even though it has it all, it begins to sink as it replenishes the ground with it's rain.
                                                      -You're a strange one.
I used to think so.

                                    -Do you think they'll ever write a book about us?
That depends. Who are you?
                                                    -Wouldn't you like to know.
Are you my conscience?
                                                 -If I were, you'd know it.
I don't understand.
                                           -You will, in time. tell me more.
I'm afraid I've run out of things to say.
                                     -No you haven't. You never could, as long as the things you say are written.

Do you know how I danced? I twirled and twirled without stopping. The crickets was my music. The greenest grass you've ever seen was my carpet. I danced until the moon slid into the sky. I danced, barefoot.
                                                 -And you laughed.
I don't remember anyone being there.
                                        -But I was. I admired how you danced like you didn't care if others were watching.

I usually care.
                                         -You didn't then.

Feel the wind! I'm gonna travel it one day!
                                           -You already are.
Is it bad that I've already begun to craft my memoirs? I think of them at night. I'm too young to die, but a part of my spirit wonders if that's true.
                                         -You will never die.
Easy for you to say. I'm sure you're immortal, right?.... No response? Well, if I die, it will be from writing myself out until I fade.
                                       -No. You'd die if you didn't write yourself out.

Who are you anyway?
                                      -.....