Does it seem like cries and screams would ever be heard?
Will people know if your breath absolves away?
Will the world know if your footsteps turn into sand, washed away by waters?
Will the neighbours know that a bedroom light doesn’t shine anymore?
Will it even matter?
Is the presence even worth it?
Is a persons thoughts just a part of the vast theories that the earth gives, or is there something deep behind?
Is a body just another count of a population or a number in a file?
Am I someone to someone or something to anything?
Am I worth it?
Am I just a hello and goodbye?
Am I just a smile from a passerby?
Am I the only one in a racing world walking?
Am I dying?
For I feel if I am, maybe it’s what I’m meant to be.
I feel that maybe it won’t matter, another letter, another name, another day.
The presence of me, what is it?
Is it just an unmade bed and a lamp light left on.
Is it just reports and papers held on to.
Is it just a closet full of fabrics frozen left to be sold.
Is it just hidden secrets behind frames and posts.
When you are dead, you are exposed.
For once the world sees what’s uncovered but oblivion hides honesty.
Maybe if I was dead, the world will take notice for once.
Maybe others will even uncover the true presence of me.
Why do I matter when I die?
Why is it worth more than being alive?