I find myself flitting in between happiness and dreariness,
loathing what makes me unhappy and secretly embracing
the other parts ripping my brains apart and forces my heart
to beat faster than it should.
There is nothing worse than knowing you are nothing,
being nothing, and doing nothing, always wanting more
and knowing what is growing inside of you has been placed
there unwillingly by the worst reactions and strongest fears.
I gather all the possessions given to me out of pity,
knowing they hold no importance or secrets and will be
burned by the largest of recent fires because there is
no one else alive that matters.