To those saying they’re with you,
Slowly bleeding out of reality,
Feel free to stay there with them,
Our time is a memory.

Saying you’re gone through death calls,
The times you visited the lucky few,
People never really leave,
Their hours run out and I’ve lost mine.

Saying people have been there before hurts,
Their stories interlock with mine like puzzle pieces,
Now people never hear of unexpected loss,
But people don’t say goodbye to the flowers they picked.

Saying something is the least you could do,
Before you’re finished my tears might dry.
They’ll become my war paint and mask,
Wear them to your twisted masquerade.

You’re not alone now I know,
Only I am next to empty space,
Spinning and dancing next to masked strangers,
Sporting the same saltwater camouflage.

I’m lost like everyone else.