A world without me
wouldn't be much different
than a world with me.
I'm invisible to everyone either way.
I could scream
in a room packed with people
and no one would even bother to look up.
I'm that tree that fell down
that nobody heard,
I don't even exist
as far as people are concerned.
All I want is to be acknowledged,
all it takes is one person
for me to be seen,
for me to matter.
But since I'm invisible,
I'm better off dead.

He comes to me in the night,
a black, looming mass
that merges with the shadows.
The headlights from the passing cars
through the window make him dance,
giving him movement
as if he were alive.
He tiptoed his way to my bed
to tower over me,
a pair of blood red eyes
shining through the shadows,
piercing through my soul,
reading my every thought.
And that's when the figure began to change,
the shadows twisting,
and turning,
and transforming.
First it was an arm, then a foot,
and then the figure
turned into something more familiar.
It had your devious grin,
your sinister voice,
your icy touch.
"I missed you," it said with a voice of silk.
It traced the edge of my face with a finger,
its eyes full of hunger, its heart full of evil.
"Did you miss me?"
In that moment I knew I was already dead.
I squeezed my eyes shut and screamed,
my heart slamming into my stomach.
I never woke up.

Sometimes I look outside
while it's raining rampant
and remember the simple times
when I used to believe
you could dodge the raindrops
and not get wet
if you were fast enough,
or how I used to race the raindrops
as they slid down the window
when I was stuck inside
for the day to play instead.
Those were the little things I worried about as a kid.
Now I worry about
what I'm gonna do after high school
when I'm thrown out into the world,
or if I'll be lucky enough to have someone
want to settle down and start a family with me,
or if I'll even make a big enough mark
for at least one person
to remember me by when I die.
And since I can't rewind my life,
I'm stuck staring out the window at the raindrops
to remember those memories
that can only be found from childhood.

Why isn't it fine for men to cry?
Why do men have to pull up their guards
the second emotions get brought up
for fear that society will judge them?

For once I just want to watch
a guy cry on my shoulder,
to hold him in my arms
and tell him how everything will be fine,
so he's not alone to face the storm
without so much as an umbrella
to keep him from catching cold.

But I know this will never happen,
because society has taught its men to be silent.

They say you don't know
what you're missing
until it's gone.
Except when I lost her,
it made me realize
that I have nothing.
I'm walking this road alone,
but the wind isn't at my back,
and when I reach my destination
there will be no one to meet me
in an embrace that makes
living this life worth it.