I breath…

I walk…

I can think…

and i can feel.

Yet i do not exist.


I am as identifiable as a snowflake in a blizzard.

I appear, but disappear.

I cannot leave a mark or trace that can be recalled.


I do not Love.

I do not Hate.

I cannot imprint my illusion onto others.

Not even a memory.


No-one yearns for me.

or can recall me.

Like pain or joy,

I come and go.


I am Déjà Vu but without the meaning.

I am the whisper you can't quite hear.

I am the figure you can't quite make out.


I shall Die even though i am not alive.

I shall be forgotten even though i cannot be remembered.

A corruptible shell that corrupts others.

And the helpful stranger who's name you can't place.


If the wind picks up hard enough, well thats the end of me.

Or will the tide of time, offer me a better place.


You will never know me…

I will never know myself…

All is lost within the mist of the memory.



"I am an idea of a person; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable… I simply am not there"


Patrick Bateman

1 Comment
  1. livinghellangel 12 years ago

    that was moving..dark yet sweet..Seending you a message..x

    0 kudos

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