I am here but do not exist,
So why do I persist to insist on my presence,
When the closest i'll ever be to being alive is a ghost in this city.
Why do I insist on living when my existence depends on the dying.
I feel the exhaustion behind my eyes and treat them like lies I tell myself are true.
The night is for sleeping ,yet I find my eyes wide open,
Thinking as if it was day dreaming of soft wispy clouds,
Wishing for the comfort of night.
If I could die I would, if I can wake, grab me by both arms
And shake the vagueness from my senses,
The haziness from my gaze and the fog from my night.
Leave me cold and crisp or hot and alive.
