FADE

The wind tugs with grasping fingers
I can feel myself
Almost
Fading away.
It's a slow thing
But no one notices,
No one cares.
Slowly I become nobody,
If I was ever anyone at all.
Slowly I become nothing
Like Echo,
Just the faintest whisper in your ear,
The slightest breeze upon your skin.
My kisses are the ignored chill
Upon your spine.
I am nothing but a memory,
A ghost of something
That might've been
ReaL.
The wind grasps with tugging, needy
Fingers
And I let myself
Fade away.

That was not a happy day. I have many such days, today included. They are not good. Not even for my poetry...cuz that poem is not one of my prize winners. W/e.