Do you see how many voices are screaming?
How many minds are dreaming?
And I wonder how I could possibly be heard,
Over the billions who want it just as much.
Of course, existence is just a seductive touch.
Just a touch, a shallow touch, on the surface of the lushness of life.
So brief and so subtle that it dissolves in a breath.
So what does it matter if I'm heard or not?
If I exist in solitude then solitude is the name my mourners will call,
If I am remembered at all.
No amount of screaming can change this.
It doesn't matter, my will to persist.
Because everyone else is screaming too,
And no one has time to listen to me or to you.
