Short Poem #8

I wake beneath a sunless sky, And still I breathe, though not sure why. The air is thick, it clings, it chokes, A ghost that lives on whispered hopes. I smile where no one wants to see, A hollow mask of what was me. The world keeps spinning, unaware That I am not quite really there. Each step I take feels just the same, A quiet echo — no one came. And in the crowd, I disappear, Alone in rooms that swarm with cheer.