I walk the halls, but no one see’s me.
I cry in the streets, but no one hears me.
Am I a figment of my own imagination?

What is real and what is fake?
Does it take a person with a stake.
I don’t have a cloak from harry potter.
So am I not important?

Invisible I am, to the naked eye.
To those who listen, hear my weeps, and cry’s.
People who ignore me, feed my invisibility.

There but not there, I always seem.
Forever living in a petrifying dream.
Alone, lost cold, and tired.
I am Invisible.

By Natasha Richards follow her on


4 thoughts on “Invisible

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