If I remain quiet,

And do not trouble,
Those dear to me,
Perhaps I can be strong.

And if not,

I might seem to be.

At least for them,
If not for me.

And if it’s not for them or me,

Why then, do I keep on?

This empty soul,

It needs a home,
It needs peace.

Because every time I am alone,

I am reminded of who died.

And who I killed.

And who they became.

Every time I hear “my” name.
Every time I hear my parents,

Scoff at those like me.
I **** myself more.

So I can seem to be,
What they want of me.

If this is truly who I am.

If I am like this really.

Why does it hurt?

Why does it **** me inside?

Why can something that is me,
Make my parents so painful
To be around?

If I am to please,

And cause no pain.

I must get rid

of my disease.