I’m living to be invisible, 
waking to disappear. 
Hoping to be a cloud 
 a blade of grass 
wanting to be lost 
or anything but noticed. 
Attention means only pain or pity. 
What invisible really is
 —a kind of suicide— 
No one ever says it out loud. 
They’re happy to tolerate. 
Just as long as I keep quiet 
and vacuum my footprints from the carpet.
I was never here.