like wallflowers growing peacefully,
with asthenic transparency
i perceive everything with eyes so weary
yet pick up the little things even angels cannot see.
leaping from star to star,
yet never knowing where to land,
traveling to places unfamiliar  
casting shadows on every space at hand.

i can't help but wonder how it would feel to exist
with a presence that would linger,
one whose souls would reminisce,
where my voice would echo;
not as a croak of sullen desperation
but a sound that would cut through
the haze of hopelessness.

i would begin to think about the probability
of my misguided existence,

invisible, but sees everything;
no flesh and bone, but is hurting.