I am not just a number.

This is real to me.

This is not just another

story.

It’s mine.

Sweep it away

to the corners of that place

where your inability to understand

renders all sense

as

useless.

But I still hold this-grasp it

in the center of mine.

maybe it’s not as bad

maybe it’s not as big

But just maybe

it is.

I’ve stretched my heart too thin

with all that I’ve put in

I want it back

From all of those

that have cheated me out

of the borrowed

time

I’ve been existing in.

I only had so much

and now it’s gone.

Thanks for staying for so long.

It’s meaningless-irrelevant;

indefinite

to the greater scheme.

I am the bearer of what I can only describe

as an invalid

dream.