The aching behind my eyes.
Passing strangers
and their silent sighs.

I've lost my way
but pretend to know where I'm going.
And I like it this way.
The right path is not worth knowing

We all die eventually.
It's not that sad;
it's no tragedy.
And I don't expect you to care
or to even remember me.

And will I be remembered?
Probably not.
And if in fact you knew me,
you will say you just forgot.