I  think about the souls
And I think about them a lot
I think about how they see me and I can’t see them
No, not the souls conceived by material
The bodies of the human race
But rather the whispers of air
I wonder, though, if they hurt more than me
If I could be with them and not be here
Instead of constantly asking why I am
Instead of staring at the black screen
At my reflection on the monitor and pondering
In the bath as I slowly choke back on my tears
It sounds unreal, something from a fiction
But this is my life, that I’ve lived for 5,445 days
Sometimes I hope for more
They hope for more. He hopes for more.God hopes for more. We hope for more.
But then again, we all hope for “more”
“To own, then you’ll receive”
I think about the lost souls
That are screaming as we walk past them
Hoping to be heard
Even the dead hope for more
Isn’t that a wild concept?
Those who can’t even feel,see,touch or hear
They have hope
More hope than the girl who wishes she was dead