Specter Shell


There's a pain in my chest

It's been there as long as I can remember.

It weighs heavy on my eyes and sucks the energy from

The marrow of my bones

And despite the passage of years, it never gets any better.


It devours the rigidity in my joints and makes me feel

As if I have no skeleton at all.

This is my default state, which is more like a lake

Or a puddle of some observant ghost.


No definition or personality of my own

Just a reflection or an echo of others around me

Whose liveliness and strength is something I admire

Yet am unable to embody with any envy.


I try to take form, and I do what I can

To fit in like the others do so naturally.

I pump adrenaline through my veins and force

Some semblance of substance to fill my outline

But it's only temporary and always fades away eventually.


After enough of these painful trials, I hide away long-term

Than to have to pretend that I belong in the human realm

Where I am not fooling anyone.

To interact from afar and to utilize my talents

To make some sort of lasting artistic contribution

Shall be at the helm in which I traverse

This evanescent existence.