Once, I knew the name I bore,
wrote it bold on every door.
Now, the letters slip like sand,
fading soft beneath my hand.

My laughter echoes, strange and thin,
a song that doesn’t sound like skin.
My dreams grow pale, my voice runs cold,
a story lost, a tale untold.

I am the waves against the stone,
slowly worn and left alone.
A whisper lost, a shadow worn—
a being half, a self outworn.