Meandering the world, like the bottomless dregs
I humble myself, even so low as to beg
But my prayers aren't voiced to those who might hear
They are spoken within, the only place I'm sincere.
I ask no forgiveness for what I've become
Something so inadequate, I've dubbed myself ****.
Through the days that have passed, and time turned away
I've listened to silence, as it shouted dismay
For in the solitude of my own self's concentration
I lost touch of what I hold dear, losing my soul's sensation
What does it mean to be a ghost? To wander around dead, to see, but not touch?
I suppose if I wasn't still alive, it wouldn't matter as much
Why then has my soul, from my body, left?
Why has it exchanged my true heart, with one so bereft?
Must all good hearts be stolen by first love's kiss?
There isn't a day with her I've spent that I will never miss.
But is my memory a delusion? Is she only a vessel?
Either way, comfort I would find; and in her arms I'd nestle.
To feel another's heart, so close to mine, how supreme.
But this will only occur, to me, in a dream.
I wake, to float through another day, and sigh
And within; the only place I let myself, cry.