I admit nothing in the blinding light of humanity, as I sit here having the same thing drummed into
me day in and day out. I can't just sit by and watch everything disappear, can I? How could life
have evolved so that even the faintest glimmer of reality shimmers vaguely before disappearing
forever? Does it not stand to reason that a part of me would disappear as well?

Each time I feel as though I open myself up, show a bit more today than yesterday, it makes no
difference. I am still the poor fool who is merely the scenery in which you flourish. Long since
forgotten, I finally meet an end worthy of my silence. One simple yet not complete. No, it
wouldn't be complete without being overlooked then as well.

What makes someone so different that they are never seen for who they are, but simply another
boring voice to fill the void of unhappiness? Is that all I am? Another poor soul adding to the
despair that seems to fill the world? If it be your will that I speak no more, famous words that
still echo through the memory of yet a decade since past. What does one do when it becomes
unbearable? The pain and suffering that happens for a reason? Yes, all things happen for that
fated reason, whether they be good or bad, but does it make a difference if you're alive or just
passing through this reality?

Beauty fades with age, and yet when you don't feel a day over sixteen, does it still begin that
despicable fading even though you fight it every step of the way? Do you lose that bounce in
your step at which point you wonder just where the time has gone? Does your brow furrow and
crease from the regrets of yesterday as you try to ignore what has been. . . what has yet to be?

Trying as hard a possible to put the best foot forward and not look back, does it ever occur to
you that behind you is what you've lost? Your innocence forever tainted, lost in the folds of time,
though you never dream you'd lost. Losing many things through the years, last to go will be your
mind, lest it sucked away slowly by old age or senility.

Finally tired from the weary battle to be seen by those you think friends, tired eyes slide shut and
the weary body gives in to defeat. All those dreams of sharing with them now lost among the
words, hidden in the forbidden textures of time, lost within our own minds. Am I lost now? Are