I look longingly at all the bridges i see as if they are an unrequited love, the thoughts of driving into oncoming traffic race as the cars pass, i know i can't leave
How cruel of me to leave this world after my mother worked so desperately to give me a good life, how inconsiderate
But is it not better to have a dead kid than a failure?
At the very least she could say “she could’ve done great things”, at the very least she could ponder what i could’ve been
What could i have been?
I cling onto anything i can assign meaning to because i can't find meaning in myself
How much longer can i take this for? What am i waiting for? I’m clearly waiting for something
I am either floating or sinking, i can't get out of the water and i don't know how to swim