I don’t know about you, but …

I feel like I will never have a heart.

There’s never a light in me unless

There’s someone in the room to help me cast a shadow on the wall,

And the shadow is theirs.

Never mine.

How could they both ever be mine?

Do I even feel anything?

Do I even exist?

Does anybody even care?

Does it matter if they do?

Existence is so large

I will not have made a dent

anyway,

But in the town big enough to hold in my hand,

I’ve crashed more cars than I can count.

I can’t live with that

I can’t live with anything,

Or die for anything.

And I’ve pressed Space 19 times,

20, just so I could trick myself into believing this thought was worth

Anything at all.