Sometimes I feel like dying
There isn't any point in trying
To be the person I used to be
The me
That people actually
Love. Barely
Any
Energy
Left for the simplest of punctuation.
My notebook hasn't been touched in days
(Like I said, there's no point anyway)
It burns to even glance at it
Glance at the me that's supposed to be
Alive and thriving
But is simply
Rotting away
Doing what I can't say
But it's all fine
It's better to leave nothing behind
Than to have set fires for
Others to put out
When I'm not here anymore.