Tell me, stranger, will you be my friend?
(Though I’m not sure it can be done at all).
But can you gaze upon my barren soul,
And explain to me, in a soothing whisper,
That there’s no reason why this soul should wilt,
And yet no earthly power can prevent it now?
Will you be my voice when I can no longer howl?
Can you lend me your eyes, should tears dry out in mine?
Will you cry in my stead, knowing not why should I wail,
No more than I do, or dare pronounce?
Is it becoming for a friend, is it even proper,
In such a positive world, of facts and sound matter,
To extend me a hand, to share a ghostly burden,
And help me mourn a grief of non-existence?
If you do exist, my friend, if you indeed are real,
And fret not too much over proper ways,
If you dwell not in excess on sane behavior,
And can accept ghastly ghouls that shall remain unnamed.
Then grasp my hand, do come and share my pain deceased,
Nurture my empty sorrow, and taste my hollow tears.
Behold my aimless journey, but do not follow after!
Do what you do, stay off that path of voidness!
Just sit along, and let your sweet voice fill my day.
It shall keep me company, maybe… just maybe…
And I will be your imaginary friend.
