There is something broken about my life;
I remember sleeping more than I remember waking.

Nothing inspires or moves me,
and everything is a ghost of itself;
Am I awake or is this my nightmare?

The ghosts turn to me,
as they tilt their head,
with their hollow, questioning faces…

I will never join them,
I would rather die.

All I feel is doubt;
this can’t be what life feels like,
can it?

When did passion abandon me,
where have hope and potential gone?

Is this how my life will be?

A series of time-killing events,
taking me from sleep to sleep,
until the day I die?

There must be something more than this.