Sometimes I think
it'd be easier
to be dead.
To have no responsibilities,
to be overwhelmed with.
To have no tasks,
to fail at.
To have no people,
to disappoint.
They tell me it would be easier,
for me at least,
but for them,
it would only make things harder.
And I begin to wonder
why they think
I care for their feelings,
When they never cared for mine.