I have worn a hundred faces,
Yet none have ever been my own.
Laughter slips from my lips like borrowed words,
Like a hollow ghost of grief and shame.

I walk among them, unseen, unheard,
A ghost with skin, a breathing blur.
They call my name, but it is not mine,
Just a sound, just a curse, just a whisper in time.
They speak of love, they speak of light,
Yet all I know is endless night.

Love was a language I never learned,
Only silence ever spoke to me.
I reached for warmth, I reached for light,
But even the sun recoiled from me.

And if I vanish—
If I slip between the cracks of existence,
Will the world even pause?
Will the sky lose its color?
Will anyone know that I was ever here at all?

I am no longer human.
Perhaps, I never was.