do I exist?
I’m afraid that sometimes I do
that all of this may somehow be real
and all my failures
all my embarrassments are true.
do I exist?
do I want to?
I can’t imagine wanting to,
wanting to live this life
knowing who I am
how incapable I am of being loved
but how capable I am of disappointing
actually exists
the universe is beautiful,
but it would be made less tragic if I didn’t actually exist
so, I do not exist
I’m just floating,
hoping that when I die
I leave not a trace that I was actually here