There are days I merely exist.

I breathe, I beat
I eat.

The whir of passing cars
Is all I hear.

Those days I play no role.

My hands are empty of purpose,
My thoughts sleep.

My body is neutral
Neither beautiful nor wrong.

I am nothing,
Yet something.

It is messily forced upon me
To shut up and watch.

I gaze out and over life.
It stares back,
Consuming me.