I am but a forgotten image of everyone,

excelling in the naught,

for there I always am,

within your blind spot.

Tickling your skin with my breath,

cutting your equanimity with my stare,

getting all to close for comfort,

with a darkened air.

My loneliness confuses,

but it is quickly pardoned,

but remembered by me,

proven with my mumbling jargon.

I am perfectly sane,

to myself I said,

but the voice disagrees,

and echos through my head.

I grasp my hair,

in the hope to prevail,

rocking back and forth,

but to no avail.

But you stare from afar,

fearing of getting too close,

with pointing fingers,

and without giving me hope.

I am falling apart,

but you only see the outside,

for what you are seeing,

has already died.

So don't give me your rumors,

don't give me your condescending glare,

for we are here,

yet I am nowhere.