This is a document. To prove that I was here. This is a document. To prove I was at all.


A desire,
To leave a scar,
To raise a voice from within the dark.

Decaying,
Cascading,
Existence falls apart,
Around me,
Within me,
So I must leave my mark.
This is a document,
To prove that I was here.
This is a document,
To prove I was at all.
And when my voice ceases to be,
Will the echo still ring loudly?
And when there’s nothing left of me,
Will my memory still go on?

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