Instability

Instability
Things are shaking while I’m not on any ground.
I don’t bother shouting
because no one wants to hear a sound.
Time hasn’t been real while it swirls in my eyes.
It controls all of my future and lies.
All of what I am is sand,
as I slip through anything I touch.
The wind that is controlled from afar is so close to me.
It manipulates every action,
subliminal and noticeable.
 
I’ve become a hazy gas made out of iron and argon.
I slip through anything I touch, I somehow never leave a residue.
It seems I never seem to touch anything at all.
I use sight to see what I’ll never experience,
but see others do, I analyze it all,
avoid the ignorance of the situations,
but end up avoiding everything.
I hide in the sewage in case I start to smell so I’ll blend in.
Not to bother what’s around me with my putrid odor.
I study silently,
hoping one day I’ll be seen.
That the results of my works will cause positive results in others,
I don’t mind if I’m infected so long as the rest are cured.
However,
it seems that I’m the disease,
and everyone got vaccinated,
so I’m ignored.
This slowly kills me.
I’m withering down into nothing.
Not even a dead flower petal
because dead petals can still help feed the hungry earth.
Slowly now,
I’m stopping.
I still hold onto the idea that staying may benefit something,
but my grip seems to be loosening now.
It seems almost time to let go.
This poem is about: 
Me

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