Look at me when you tell the world I’m not real.
Stare me in the eyes when you insist I no longer exist.
Erase me from your future, but you can’t remove me from the past.
One day memories of me will haunt you.
Follow you around and whisper in your ear:
“Stupid boy. What have you done?”
You’ll hate yourself, when you look for the photos and they are gone.
Nothing left to fill your empty cup.
You screamed that I had no idea who I was.
Over and Over until your forced yourself to believe it.
To ease your guilt at making me an erasable entity.
But it’s you who doesn’t know.
You who emulate those of us who shine too brightly.
Until you sicken yourself with your own inadequacy.
The moment when who you really are starts to stare back at you in the mirror, you find a way to pass the blame.
But erasing me won’t make you the person you want to be.
Learning that lesson might destroy you.
But what can I do to help?
Since I don’t exist to you….