Cry

I'm the sad part of you that barely even tries. Even still, I whine and cry to tell you I'm still somehow alive.

I'm your final firing synapse, your accidental child pleading "wait, wait!" before I even finish the sentence that aborts it.

I'm your rallying endorphins, waiting for a reply from your body that never comes, I gave up a long time ago when I saw the phone dangling off the hook.

Because when you thought of me, you thought of me as a fleeting cry of hopelessness. I'm already dead.

We are just echoes, a heavily corrupted DMT memory from 1999 compressed on-disc back in 2007 and replayed until the bits fragment and the drive stops clicking.

However loud you can hear yourself in your mind, Your throat crumbled long ago.

Dying lantern-child, I am merely the last flicker of light your brain let out as it went pop.

Oops!

~Montauk