I am slowly realizing that I am no one. I feel as if my significance in others l
ives is all but gone (as if it was there.)
I always walked the path I felt with my heart. I am nothing. I am a hypocrite. I
am a liar. The pressures of living
and the pressures of being alive deteriorate (within myself i am laughing.) I mo
ve in moments. Moments.
Greater
than
you
or
I.
Time has shown to heal most everything. But being plagued by the shells of old g
hosts has made me tired. I grow
tired of the prodding feeling of burying the insides of disease. My faith stands
. Brittle and cold. The feeling of
hearing my last breath exit my lungs and the cries come from all who care so dea
rly. I am sorry. My time is
not now but i have stolen the clock. I have no desire to wind it again. I pass t
hrough you like a ghost with no
beginning or with no ending. I have seen the despair. I am despair.
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