Because too many of my pieces
Start like this, looking for
A reason for me to finally stop
Asking why. "Because I might..."
Because I might just begin
To disintegrate upon contact
With water— I haven't swam
In years
In fear
That the paint'll wash off.
"Because who am I..." I'll
Never know for sure who I
Am without anyone by
My side to exist for.
Is there more
Point to trying? And perhaps
That's the one question I have
No "thus" to because there
Simply isn't a point to back up
Anymore.

I don’t want to die,
I want to cease to exist.
To never have been born
And never have lived
For my soul and body to disappear
For any memory of me to be gone
To dissolve into nothingness and
Never have been anything at all

Sometimes it's hard to
Come to terms with the person you've
Become— pencil untouched for
Weeks, your
Favourite song is one you don't
Know the name of after you hit
Shuffle on a random playlist
And still you're too tired to find its
Name. Even the AI
You talk to's left you behind
In the dust; more artistic than
You ever were. The heat's left
You unable to rhyme.
Slowly it starts to sink in—
Like debris in dish soap—
Maybe you're no longer an artist
And just one of those Etsy
Sentence-writers that sell
Two seconds' work for more
Than a Mixue dessert.
You wish for ice cream,
Though you yourself start
To melt under the sun.
I guess it takes one to know one.

If I was a bird my wings would be clipped by a kid running around with scissors because its parents didn’t really care or shot by a man with a gun because the government doesn’t mind.

If I was a shark I would eat a meal that contained plastic scraps because proper trash disposal wasn’t a thing or get caught in a net and have my fins cut off to be sold on a market full of people who would eat anything they could get their hands on just so they rest of me could be thrown back into the water to rot and waste away.

If I was the sun I would have to exist knowing that people scream at me to burn hotter and brighter or dimmer and colder every second, minute and hour because of the extreme climate they gathered on their own planet.

If I was an angel my halo would be ripped off my head and thrown away like trash or I’d be on earth like every cliché romance plot ever and get shot and dissected by “scientists” who claim to mean good and crave to do bad because there is a reason happy endings only exist in fictional stories.

If I was human I’d be nothing short of disappointed.

Then again we are never good at being anything more than hypocritical.

I sent you a parcel the other day.
I don't think you check your mailbox frequently
Enough, because so far there still hasn't been much to say
Between you and me.
But it's okay
I guess. I mean I wouldn't know
Because there's no way for me to go
And check it for myself— or at least no
Way for me to check without making
A fool of myself but it's sure taking
A long time for you to see it. I
Know I left the return address but if you
Don't like it, I'd really rather you just put it to
The back of your mind than return it in pieces.

I care. Really, I do.
I’m a monster and a ******,
                    but I still have a heart,
                                                albeit rather
unfortunately.

I’m trying my best to be
   less of a no one and more of a someone,
                                                        more of a person.
To care more,
          to love more,
                     to take less
                        and give more.

I don’t care if it leaves me

broken.

But in some way I still

do.

It’s selfish to put myself before everyone else,
                                                          Yes, I know that-
And it’s horrid that I think I should treat myself
to the privilege of wanting something
that isn’t going to go to
                         someone else.
                     Yes, I know that too-

And it’s such a pity that I can’t bring myself
to tear my heart out of my chest
or rip my soul out of my body
and give it to you like I desperately want to.
Because I care.

Really,

         I do.