I'm Not Really Here

I'm Not Really Here.

 

I'm not really here.

You can't really see me.

I'm just that little nagging thing that aggravates you constantly.

 

I'm not really here.

You can't really hear me.

I answer my own questions, with no sense of reality.

 

I'm not really here.

You can't really touch me.

I pick at scabs of injuries, I've inflicted intentionally.

 

I'm not really here.

You can't really feel me.

I explode at nothingness, then stare right at you absently.

 

I'm not really here.

You can't really taste me.

I'm bitter with the sting of love, returned but not completely.

 

I'm not really here.

You can't really smell me.

I reek of anger and of spite thrown out in pure vanity.

 

I'm not really here.

You can't really be me.

I exist only in my space to chip away at sanity.