Spectator
I see love.
I see betrayal.
I see everything—
yet no one looks at me.
I stand alone, watching,
feeling things I shouldn’t.
I wish I were hollow—
then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.
I touch. I feel.
Yet still, no one sees.
The warmth of life brushes past,
and I wish I were dead inside,
just stone,
just silence,
just stillness.
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