but why when you are a ghost
does no one seem to know?
much less notice, offer a glance
when all you crave
is one word
that you still exist
because lost inside of yourself
it's difficult to see that there is any worth

What is the meaning of life?
Is it to be remembered?
To have people tell stories of you after you are gone?
Is it to change the world?
To make an impact in the blink of existence allotted to us?
To create something that will last?
Last until everybody you knew or who knew you is dead?

Humans are obsessed with finding a meaning.
A goal.
To matter.
We are born onto an assembly line that is
go, go, go, go, go
and then it ends.
What is left?

We never take time to think about how beautiful it is just to exist.
How, for this moment to be happening, the universe had to be created.
And through an incomprehensible sequence of events you ended up here.
In this moment.
This is a miracle.
There is no need to force yourself to matter, you already do.
You are the product of billions and billions of years of work.
Cherish it.

For the words flow so much easier when you aren't trying to force them,
when you simply sit and watch the sunset and listen to the birds.

What is the meaning of life but to exist?

Take away the pain
Take away the strain
Just what would remain

I am held together with the struggle
I am held together because of all I juggle

I am nothing but agony
I am nothing but depravity
I am nothing but blasphemy

Question's on my mind weigh
If you could take that away
Do it right here today

Would I cease to exist
Would I still be here in the midst
Would I be missed

For I am nothing but self loathing, agony, and pain
If it could magically be taken away, would anything remain

Have you ever felt this way?
So empty.
So lost.
Like a raft in the ocean.
So fragile.
So alone.
Like being alone in a crowded room.
So much chaos,
Yet so quiet.
Like a falling leaf;
Now, free
Yet, dying.
Like a flower planted in a soil;
Dancing
Yet, holding back.
Like me,
Existing
but
not
*Living.

My Dreamgirl Don't Exist.
At Age 5 She Slit Her Wrist.

i've made this a long time ago
to love you
with more letters to come
and a poets to verse out
I am simply aware of my deeds
for i can be the most magical
genie in a bottle of your dreams nor for real.

My Mind Is Full Of Dead Words
Decomposing Onto Books,
Creating A Vivid Picture Of
You That I Never Knew Existed.