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Mar 2020
I feel so small and unimportant.
Maybe I was never meant to be more than a fleeting thought.
A disappearing memory; a false attempt at love,
A stepping stone in the direction of anyone else.
There are so many β€˜maybes’ filling my tear ducts to the brim.
Like maybe you didn’t love me,
And
Maybe this is how I’ll finally drown.
Suffocated by my own tears,
And ripped apart by your emptiness.

Maybe .n.o.t.h.i.n.g. is all we were ever meant to be.
Whoever has my voodoo doll, can you please please please stop stabbing me in the ribs?
Madds
Written by
Madds  Melbourne
(Melbourne)   
87
   --- and Jim Musics
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