Nothing Special

You probably won’t remember me.

I’m not much for your fantasy.

My hands are empty.

My heart is heavy.

My hope is left to rot.

You’ll probably drift by one day,

And won’t notice me along the way.

You won’t look back,

Or retrace your tracks,

To see what you’ve forgot.

You probably will pass on through.

I’m not rich, or clever,

Or shiny and new.

You probably will just walk by,

And won’t see me on the way.

You probably don’t even care,

That I am just existing there.

My pockets are empty.

My burdens are heavy.

My future is decay.