Diary Of A Shattered Mind - A Book Of Assorted Poetry

Nothing

I'm so tired.

It's a kind of tired no amount of sleep can help.

A kind of tired that feels like if you take one more step,

you might fall to the ground and never get up again.

The nauseating feelings of knowing that nothing you ever do will ever matter.

The world will only become grayer as the color fades into the nothingness that has become of myself.

So. Fucking. Useless.

I haven't talked to you in weeks. You're probably busy, and I don't want to interrupt anything.

You have a life, unlike some people. You have things to do and people you care about. You matter in a way I never have.

You know it too. You have confidence, and flair, and you're happy.

It's wishful thinking to entertain the idea you have time for me, or even care at all, when there are more important things for you to do.

But I'm hurting.

And I'm drowning.

And I'm sinking further.

And I can't move anymore.

I'm just... tired.

Tonight wasn't good.

It wasn't bad either,

it was just nothing.

It was an overwhelming...

Nothing.

The day was Nothing.

I did Nothing.

I am Nothing.