No one's supposed to know
that I feel so completely alone.
It doesn't matter if I feel like a shell
empty of life, shipped off to hell.
I can hide behind softer eyes and
lips that curl toward a constant grey sky.
I've gotten used to the hollow,
the desolation and sorrow.
No stars come out at night and I think,
that's me: not one, but none.
Because a soul so forgotten
isn't a soul at all.