i'm watching my life from the backseat,
a silent spectator to the blur of days,
time slips through my fingers like sand,
leaving no trace, no memory to hold.
each moment blends into the next,
a canvas of indistinguishable hues,
where the past months merge,
a fog of forgotten whispers and empty echoes.
i move through routines, a ghost in my own skin,
disconnected, disjointed, a stranger to myself,
seeing my reflection but feeling no connection,
a hollow presence in the crowd.
every day is a haze, every night a void,
the world moves around me, vivid and sharp,
but i am faded, lost in the shadows,
a phantom drifting through a dream.
i search for fragments of clarity,
but find only fragments of who i used to be,
memories like scattered leaves in the wind,
distant, unreachable, slipping away.
this existence feels surreal,
a play where i am the audience,
watching from the back row,
longing to step onto the stage, to feel alive.
but the script is unreadable, the lines unclear,
and i am left to wonder,
am i real, or just a figment of a forgotten story,
lost in the blur of days and nights?
YOU ARE READING
poems
Poetrypoems i've written. THE ONES FROM THE BOTTOM UP ARE THE BEST. i promise they get better and more lengthy. please don't take without credits. please don't copyright. and please don't make fun of these 🙏🙏😭.
