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Sure, I have a
body that functions like any other,
But I am not a person, something is missing.
I walk among people,
watching them in awe,
Watching, wishing I had what they have:
Love and ultimately happiness.
It's what makes a human being a person.
But how can anyone love me if they can't see me?
I just drift by unnoticed, leaving the air untouched.
They always come together.
People have a natural attraction to each other, but not to me.
I have no magnetism, nothing to bring them close.
I mess things up before they can happen.
I get too anxious, too paranoid.
What if someone else gets her? I'm not a killer.
So what I am?
Am I what I see in my head when I'm alone?
I just see an array of images, all random and indiscernible.
How can I focus this energy?
Where is that driving force, that will to go on?
Where is my soul?
I have recently seen, that my colorful dreams
Cannot be fulfilled in my gray, colorless world.
I must not only bear this knowledge now, but must watch its evil
unfold.
If I am a ghost do I even live?
No, I breathe and bleed, but life is more than just having a living
shell.
Should I let my body live, even though my soul is dead?
I can't seem to break this awful routine, this meaningless dance.
I always ask the same dreadful questions, all spinning in a hypnotic
circle,
All leading to the same dreadful answers.
The circle turns and turns, I can't tell beginning from end.
It turns and turns to a steady tempo, draining what's left of me.
Turning and turning, the circle is slowing now, I fear its imminent
end.
This inner hole gets bigger, swallowing me whole,
Swallowing me heartlessly,
Its hunger never ends.
So here I am again before my bleeding self in the mirror.
I ask the question and complete the circle.
Am I a person?
Copyright 2000, William Anthony
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