This dark is filled with ghosts.

Teaming fingers, bone cold with the agony of sorrow brush my brow, willing me to mourn, to cease to be within this beating form and join the shadows that beckon.
I chase oblivion down to the bottom of the nearest bottle and beyond, my smile a painted scar that masks the ugliness within, as numbness creeps silently into the corners of my soul.

I will not belong within the hearts of the living.
I will not be long at all.