I love to listen,
even if my company
can't substitute
what you're missing.

I can't help anyone
in real ways.
And soon enough
with me, you'll be done.

I love to listen,
but now it's strange, see?
Why is what I'm hearing
starting to sound a bit like me?

Am I really
content with this?
The things I would do,
to be anyone else.
Anywhere else.
At any other time.

The things to change
are countless
and innumerable,
but it could all be fixed
if what changed
was the direction of your gaze.

If I could change
the direction you look,
to be seen by you,
maybe then I'd find it in me
to change myself.

At somewhere past 3
in the morning,
my feelings trickle.

Down my face
and down
my arms.

I stretch towards
what I believe to be
the sky,
past this gray ceiling.

And yet these hands of mine
will never find
a single thing to hold
and call "mine".

"There's no point",
is the favorite phrase of
an indifferent loser
such as I.

Hideous negativities flow in harmony,
with the stream that stings my eyes.
Putting on a show of apathy
and pretending love is a misfortune,
my true feelings will scrape
at my conscience.

Stowed away are the words
that bear years' worth of sentiment.
"Could you
love someone like me?"

Happy friends are always
a pleasant sight to see,
but how quickly that sight sours
when I realize they'll still be happy
without me.

I'll be thrown away.
You don't
really need me
anyways.
It's nothing, right?
I'm out of sight.
I'm nothing,
right?

I'm translucent,
as if I were an apparition.
I had always thought
you were looking through me.
I see now,
that you were looking past me instead.