Is It Just Me, Or Am I Insane

Am I insane — or is it just me — to keep thinking things will change?

The world is dark.
It doesn’t matter who you are, where you live, or what you believe.
Not even indifference saves you.

Everyone drifts to sleep with the whispering closets of their mind rattling full of doubts, regrets, and memories.

It’s in those hollow hours I wander my own brain like one might walk the Aokigahara Forest —
wondering:

Is there a tree waiting for me to put it to use?
Or should I stay on the train and ride it to the end?

I know it’s not just me.
I’ve seen it happen to you, too.

Where are you now? I wonder.
All of you.

I watched you fade away — ending not with peace, but with slow, brutal decay.
You couldn’t piss without help.
Couldn’t lift a spoon.
Carried to the toilet like a broken doll.
A tube up your nose.
Yellowed eyes staring through me.

What did our parents do that we deserve this dreary execution?
Slowly fading.
Tormented by illness and pain.
Arms too tired to lift, minds riddled with errors.

Is it just me, or am I insane?

Passion — gone.
Sex — gone.
Desire — for what? Death?
No.

Desire still flickers.
A low ember refusing to die.

The days drag so slowly
I wake myself just to go back to bed.

In the silence, I try to remember you.
But the scent of you is gone.
The touch of your hand — a shadow.
The sound of your voice — a vanishing echo.

Thank God for photographs; without them, you’d be a ghost without a face.

When I see you in dreams, you smile but say nothing.
When I speak, you disappear.
I cannot stop missing you — even when you come wearing someone else’s face.

Is it just me, or am I insane?
Or is it love refusing to die?