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Its not perfect I know, but the sad thing is its about me. |
Found, what is found? I am not found. I am a ghost, I am on the side. I am forgotten, I am non existent. Love, what is love? Another idea I will never have. Another thing I will never be able to possess. Another item I reach for. Another thing I do not receive. I am forgotten, not found. Death, what is death? Something to fear? Why not? Something to pine for? Yet something to fear. I am forgotten, not found. Feelings, what are feelings? Things I do not know. That is what they are. I am forgotten, not seen. Friends, what are friends? To me, they are things of imagination. They are never real. I am used. I am pitiful. I am forgotten, wished gone. Me, what am I? Another toy for people? Another idiot with a dream? Another forgotten soul? Another whom wished for love but will never receive such gifts. Another whom is wished to leave. Another whom is wished to die. I am forgotten, regretted. Regret, that is the truth. I am regret. I sit alone, I dance alone, I am alone I cry and I plead for love But such gifts will never be returned. I am forgotten, sad and afraid. |