Fading Frequencies
by Dawg
I wrote my name in the unchanging, but the signal slipped away,
left behind in quiet corridors where the living never stay.
Footsteps lost in shifting sands, stories swallowed by the dust,
the weight of time is pressing down, turning memories into rust.
The faces change, the voices blend, and no one turns to call my name.
The streets I walked still lead somewhere, but not a soul recalls I came.
Ink dries brittle on the pages, framed in cracks too deep to mend—
they’ll tear it down to build another, and I will break before I bend.
The clocks keep running without mercy, don’t wait for bodies left behind.
Each second steals another story, erasing proof that I was mine.
No monuments built, no chapters saved, no carved initials in the stone,
just another voice gone missing, drowned beneath the dial tone.
Fear of fading, fear of time, words unwritten, lost in rhyme.
Fingers grasp at vanishing light, whispers swallowed by the night.
Fear of silence, fear of space—just a shadow with no face.