Words

These words
build a picture
of the story I’d tell;
of the life that I’d live,
if I only felt well.
The voices are distant,
the memories don’t fade.
My life’s turning over
but I’ve already paid
the price, ain’t worth paying;
death knocks at the door.
I already know
that I’ve been here before.
As I slowly walk forward,
the future’s unknown;
The people keep passing
but I’m still alone.