When we die,

We'll be forgotten,

But what can we say when

We're forgotten

While alive?

What am I to think

When I am invisible?

When I am cast aside?

When I am the problem?

Who is there to see me for me?

Does death then hold no meaning?

Is death even worth fearing?

Or is it rather embraced

As a means of escape

From those who

Don't care

At all?

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The feeling comes gnawing, gnashing, crashing into me from within, a reminder of the things I lack, the things I could have been.

The thought of failure torments me, slashing, stabbing, holding onto my heart, a reminder of those who always thought that I was just playing an imaginary part.

The pain comes sharply, sneakily, forcing my mind into behaving, a reminder of the moments I have lost ...

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