What's the difference between existing,
and living?
Which one am I doing?

With blood cascading constantly,
These narrow glim lines under my pale skin,
I question, maybe I'm alive.

That the raging hammer thumping,
The hollow heart in my chest,
Means I am simply existing.

These soft inhales and exhales,
Thick polluted air,
It must mean something.

Though it could be confusion,
Simply too real to be illusion,
Definitely not delusion.
Maybe I've come to a conclusion.
To end my manic mental drive,
Maybe I'll live not to survive.
I think I am alive.

I feel weird
Empty walking
Not talking
Just existing not living
Well maybe I don't exist
I'm just someone
Empty walking
Not talking
Just existing
As I said, not living
I don't feel
I'm numb
Just existing.

Your existence is a revolution of colour
Of ideas and creation.
A radical paradox of reality.
A heartbreakingly complex story
but
an inspiringly strong
Heart

is it a bad thing
to think about not existing?

you're all better off without me
i decided
but you quickly replied with
that's all just in your head

if that's true then why why why
do you leave me to dry
my own tears as you sit there
and act like you give a care

why why why do you
let me feel so blue
stop smiling at everyone else
and notice you're so dense

so so dense to my pain

She is a ghost
In her own home
Drifting from
Room to room,
A phantom
Rattling chains
In the early
Morning gloom

She wrings her hands
And curves her spine
And spends
The night alone
Watching time
As it passes by
In a world she's seen
Yet never known.

now we're left missing
the you you were before you got hurt
more so, i'm sure,
than you miss your old self
but then again,
there's no such thing
as a new and old self
there's just you
you, that's not exactly yourself
could be, not anymore,
not at all
or not so much
you
there's just the you before
you had to deal with his *******
the you before
you looked at it
as if it was a necessity
to fake smiles
when really,
it's the ugliest existing thing
in this world
there's just the you who held too tight
with both hands onto him
or not at all
so you could cover your eyes instead
there's just the you
before he left you to crumble
and the you now.

We are just ghosts
Aimlessly passing the time,
Forgotten places
Left behind,
Boarded up doorways
Stained by decay,
Restlessly looming
In the deepening gray,
Disappearing beneath
The undergrowth