Do I need to live?
Or am I just filling space,
A name no one calls,
A face no one sees,
A soul forgotten in the human race?
I breathe, but what’s the point of air,
When no one’s reaching, no one’s there?
I cry in rooms where silence grows,
And no one hears.
And no one knows.
Am I supposed to stay and try,
When all I do is drift and sigh?
I am tired of “one more day,”
Tired of pretending I’m okay.
Can anyone love me,
This version I hide?
The one that’s quiet,
The one that’s tried.
The one who’s broken, bruised, and scared,
Who only ever wanted to be spared.
I don’t need the world to cheer,
Just someone, real, who draws me near.
To look and say: “You’re not a ghost.
You’re not too late. You still mean most.”
But maybe I’m not meant to stay.
Maybe my purpose slipped away.
Still, something in me holds on tight,
A flicker in the endless night.
So here I am. Not quite dead.
But barely holding up my head.
Hoping someone, someday might see,
That even shadows long to be free.
