Ghostrat-ARTz

My soul is empty. My heart aches for envy Of those whose thoughts, Emotions and feelings Are still their own. Are still real. I am not real. I am dessicated. Like the fly Whose corpse is just a shell, Whose insides have run dry, Under the spider's spell. My chest is empty. My tongue searches, My fingers tap For something to say. Some way To cry when tears run Dry. I am not real. For if I were real, I would feel.