I feel like there should be a funeral for people to gather and say goodbye.
Reminisce about the good old times and console one another as they cry.

They’d remember how I loved to dance and laugh; being wild and care free.  
It would be a day of celebrating the full and vibrate life of me.

But instead I’m classed as living even though part of me is dead.
They tell me how good I look but they can’t see inside my head.

The future was once mine to take, my destinations vast.
Now all I have are constant thoughts of how long this hell will last.

I am the only mourner for the girl that passed away.
For her spirit has left unnoticed whilst her body is here to stay.

It sounds the same and sometimes smiles but it is just a mask.
Trudging through each endless day and fumbling through each task.

The friend you had, the girl you loved is sadly no longer here.
That I seem to be the only one to realise has become my biggest fear.

I know that I am dead and gone but still here I seem to be.
Trying to pretend that I’m just the same old me.