Sometimes, Often

Sometimes I feel like substance is missing in my life. Often I feel this. I feel like I've cherished too few memories, times lost among a sea of things I'd rather forget. Disappointment after disappointment drown me into a pointless indulgence of self-pity where expression of the negative is both a temptation and a dampener, a relief but selfish,  strength in words but a weakness in the heart. 

Sometimes I feel like substance is missing in my life. Often I feel this. I feel like friends come and go, but few are the ones who stay. I feel like they remember my face, but don't remember me at all. I feel like they've moved on, but I'm still back here, somehow. I feel like I've moved on, and I'm not here at all.

Sometimes I feel like substance is missing in my life. Often I feel this. I feel like every day is just another step on an imaginary ladder with no second floor. I feel like I'll come home, and nobody will open the door. I feel like I'll cry but nobody will see my tears. I feel like I'll go deaf with my own screams, but nobody will check my ears. I feel like my blood will leave messages on the walls, but not even a passer by will read it. I feel like I'll drown in it and still keep breathing. 

Sometimes I feel like substance is missing in my life. Often I feel this. I tried picturing my funeral; It was silent. Nobody spoke a word. Nobody cried. Nobody cared. Dressed in black, feeling the clock tick, silence so thick, you could hear a heartbeat. Faces covered, not to hide the pain, but the disdain and the misery of mourning someone you won't miss. Veil's covering faces that do not wallow in guilty, but apathy.

Sometimes I feel like substance is missing in my life. Often I feel this.

Sometimes I feel like I am missing in my life. Often my substance feels this.