I dwell within this loneliness,
Write letters, to myself,
I try to dream, yet sleepless remain,
And so, do my dreams remain, shelved.

I take those dreams down, now and again,
To brush off the cobwebs, and dust,
Then to the shelf I return them,
To hold vigil, 'gainst mildew, and rust.

Yet still, do I go through the motions,
I pretend that the shelf isn't real.
I hide it from view, deep down inside,
Where no other may see how I feel.

Not a wholly successful endeavor,
For it seems I hide nothing so well,
I wear it all, right there on the sleeve,
Of this husk, this now empty shell.

In this life that is measured in moments,
If a life, you could call it, at all,
In this very precarious balance,
So cloose to the edge, to the fall.

But it's mine to endure, and endure it I will,
Until I decide otherwise.
I'll impose on no other, friend, family, or lover,
The decision for life, or demise.

Lest you think that my choice is not living,
As if living, in fact, were the choice,
I'd turn right around and proclaim to the world,
In a loud, and joyous voice.

But if your life were measured as mine is,
Equal parts disappointment, despair,
If your nights were spent in like fahion,
Reaching out to find nobody there.

If all of your very best efforts,
to recover, rebuild, came to naught,
If your future was just repitition,
Regardless of how hard you'd fought.

If your heart, daily, was breaking,
Yet all, all around you decried,
That happiness is just for the taking,
Un-mindful of how hard you've tried.

If you can put yourself in my shoes,
If you can, somehow, feel as I've felt,
If you can go back, to some point in your life,
And imagine this place, where I've dwelt.

Then, if you can honestly tell me,
It's that simple, in your point of view,
All that I have will to you gladly give,
Cause i'd rather, by far, be you.