Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Beauty is subjective to us all.
So instead I wonder if a single soul alive,
Would mourn someone such as I.
Would they scream?
Would they cry?
No forget-me-nots scattered by my side.
For I am the lost sock,
Looked for but never worn.
The hum of the refrigerator,
Heard only when the power dies.
The fuzzy bear with broad eyes,
Forgotten as the child earns his pride.
Even if I were to die tonight,
Nobody’d ever know my plight.
Beyond the veil,
I’d hear them laugh,
Hear them mock,
And then go on with their lives,
Just like they did when I was alive.
Still, a stubborn hope inside,
Says someone would feel the gray,
Once the light has left my eyes.
And to that pipe dream I hold on—
Maybe they’d tear up at a sight,
Fend me with all their might,
Dog-ear my favourite poems,
Forget the world outside.
Maybe the seat where I used to sit—
Would feel too cold or slightly wide.
Regardless of what’s to be,
I’d like to believe that delusion of mine.