I am the last of a dying breed,
The shrinking group of people who can say,
They know me.
Not my name,
Nor my stories.
Hell, half of them are lies.
I am alone with my thoughts, and actions, and mind,
And I can tell you for sure,
That we are all alone, together.
We are not how we're seen, or how we see ourselves;
I am every ****** thing I have ever done,
And if somebody knew,
They would weep for the part of me that still gives a ****.
Thankfully, I know what they do not.
That this part of me does not exist.