I talk to none but you so my words do not carry,
I exist on scraps in solitude so my life bears no weight,
I write but no one reads so my experience only benefits the makers of pencils and my wisdom will wash away unheard.
My life wasnt lived it was endured,
I had the morals to neither replicate or reproduce so all that i am rots with me when i leave.
So this clarity is my oil on water, it looks pretty but pollutes,
This treasure 'life' people praise so much isnt meaningful,
I'm proof.