Unable to connect to others, I feel I'm always peering in With envious eyes, I observe their lives, and wonder when mine will begin The insidious illness that creeps into my soul, isn't easily diagnosed It's hard to explain, to a real living being, what it's like to be a ghost The doctors check my vitals and say "Umm, you look just fine" If only that blood pressure cuff could read my ******-up mind All the pills in the world don't seem to help, and instead just make it worse I wish I could feel, something that's real, besides my mother's curse Unable to relate to others, I feel I'm always on the outside So I breathe on the glass and use my bony hand to scribble, I am alive