It brings me solace.
That you'll forget about me in time.

Maybe one of these days you'll find me
In the obituary, just another fool.
Split in two, and will you wonder?
What happened?

Reminiscing of a time in the future, when I'm someone deserving of what I have, and all the work it would take.
I keep thinking though, I could die a fiery death before that day ever comes, and what would be the point of that journey to completion.
I would never have been able to be happy with you.

To be happy with her.

To even be happy at all.

Is there a heaven where I can bask in it all, all of the beautiful things I could ever have? Is there a heaven where I deserve any of these wonderful beings?

No, there isn't.
And the point of this poem is only to reminisce on nonexistence and nothingness.

Sad to say this new year I just don't feel very important. Whether it's the girl I'm with or the girl I want to be with. Will it make a difference?
Or is this just a cycle I'm bound to repeat?

Despondence. As I ponder, the thought of love, the thought of like, and what's the point of it all.
Self loathing, while I think of her, and how she has no idea of my motives. The innocence is all consuming each time she gives me a glance, and god sees failure in me as I glance back.