AM I DEAD!!!!!!!!!

The doors are open,
and the windowpanes are swaying.
Quietly, I lie upon the floor, motionless—
am I dead?

Silence echoes through the room,
while dust grows thicker on the books.
The walls seem to close around me,
and still I wonder—
am I dead?

The room is as deserted as a grave.
I see myself lying on the floor;
then I fall to my knees
and whisper a prayer for myself.
I must be dead.

But who is he, kneeling there,
praying for my soul?
If that is me—and not some dying dream—
then tell me,
how can I be dead?

My morals are buried, my spirit extinct;
my heart rings false, my love indistinct.
Every word I speak becomes a mournful breath—
perhaps there are crueller things
than death.

I stand beside myself in mourning,
paying tribute to the man I used to be.
I have travelled too far to find the road back,
yet something in me refuses to leave.

So, God, if this is what it means to live—
half a man, half a memory instead—
don't leave me here to mourn myself.
Tell me why I am not dead.