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Maybe one day someone will gather all my ramblings
and publish them for some cheap entertainment
To scratch beneath the surface of my persona
to observe the mundane occurrences of my life
I hope to clean up this mess before I am swept away
from this place
I would hate to have the task of sorting through my things
My lonely existence
will be found at the bottom of the stack
where will these things end up?
Buried or recycled back into the dust
never to be heard from again
my soul silenced forever
Will anyone care enough about me to investigate
who I was?
My lonely existence thrown out in the dumpster
or given to relatives and friends
boxes of my things
collecting dust in the attic
What will become of me now?
that I have no voice?
Time is corroding the edges
of my words
My lonely existence
left on the bottom of the stack
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