I walk through life in ghostskin,
a shimmer no one sees.
The world hums somewhere far away.
I’m not part of it.
I was never stitched into the fabric.
Never anchored, never held.

I laugh on cue.
I say the right things.
But my voice echoes
from underwater halls.
Where pain grows, moss on the walls
and no one visits.

I could disappear
and nothing would shift.
No wind would notice,
no tide would turn.
Because I already don’t exist
in the way others do.

I am not broken yet.
but I am not okay.
I am trying
to breathe
with lungs that never quite
believed in air.

And still, somehow,

I remain.