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.