I am definitely living
I just don't feel very alive

The aching behind my eyes.
Passing strangers
and their silent sighs.

I've lost my way
but pretend to know where I'm going.
And I like it this way.
The right path is not worth knowing

We all die eventually.
It's not that sad;
it's no tragedy.
And I don't expect you to care
or to even remember me.

And will I be remembered?
Probably not.
And if in fact you knew me,
you will say you just forgot.

Picking up the pieces from a life half-lived.
Shoving away the dropped dreams that lay
on the floor.
Pacing the room where you lied to yourself
again and again:
Ashamed, you close the door;
and you think to yourself,
that there could've,
should've been
much,
much more.

And yet you continue to be on the side.
In the backseat of your own life.
You are regret
personified
and it's doubt that sits in the front
that's taking you for a ride
straight down the line
to a grave with nothing written on the headstone.
And before you know it
you've lived out your life
and now you've died
with nothing to show,
nobody that minds
because you
are all
*alone.