As I stand alone in a moving grey blob of people,
I yell at the top of my lungs,
Words that mean something to me.
No one turns their head,
All of them blankly staring forward,
Staring towards an unseen goal.
I reach my hand to touch someone,
Yet their movement is fluid
As if your hand was a ghost,
Passing through, never changing.
I take out a gun,
And aim it at my head.
The shot was like a cannon,
being heard miles away.
Yet, as my body falls to the ground,
The blob of people press forward,
All of them reaching towards that unseen goal
Never making note of the person that was once me.