TW: Suicidal thoughts

I'm here, but does it matter much?
My days blend softly, no spark, no touch.
Alive, but not quite living, it seems,
just drifting through forgotten dreams.

I don't want to die, but life feels still,
an empty space I cannot fill.
I'm not searching for the end,
yet neither do I feel the need to mend.

The world spins on without a care,
and I'm just a breath within the air.
No great purpose, no lasting mark,
just shadows dancing in the dark.

Existing, not living, caught in between,
neither lost, nor fully seen.
What changes if I'm here or gone?
Perhaps nothing, but I linger on.