Where am I,
I am not ready to die.
I can see everyone around me.
But why do they let me be.
Can anyone see me?
Will somebody set me free?
I hear voices further away.
But I can't hear everything that they say.
Maybe I am a figment of their imagination.
Or a collection of their infatuation.
The glass jar that I am in is shut tight.
I here footsteps in the night.
I wish somebody would talk to me.
I wish somebody would release me free.
I wish I knew if I was real or a ghostly spirit passing through.
I wish for signs of life, if only I knew.
©terrylin53
T