There's nothing here for you

I sit here, with a blank paper,

no words, no ideas.

I sit here, but I am long gone.

My fingers tap the wooden table, they play a song.

Away, far far away my mind is hidden, lost.

My ears listen the rain shouting through the window.

My eyes watch thousands of water drops falling from the sky like dead birds,

fast and cold.

And I sit there, in a rather empty room, alone,

with a blank paper,

with no words, no ideas.

A dream

I don’t exist.

I am not human, I am not a being.

My life isn't real.

I am nothing but a train of thoughts.

My past is a movie. My future nonexistent. I feel nothing. I am empty.

My mind is muddy, blurred, detached.

I do not exist.

I, me, can’t feel a thing. I process fictional lifes, feelings that are not mine. I borrow emotions so I don’t need to have my own.

I am not real. How could I be?

I am a hollow vessel, sometimes filled by outlander souls.

I do not exist.
I am not real.
How could I be?