For as long as I can remember I was never afraid of dying,
I was afraid of living.
When I was young I never saw a point.
There was nothing worth staying for.
Recently I've thought about all the people out there who are dying and want to be living
Even all the people who had to face their fate unwillingly
What about the people with diseases that could be dying at this very moment?
I bet it would break their heart if they never got to go prom, or graduate from university, or get married and start a family
What if things were different?
What if I could die so that they could live?
I don't deserve a life I don't appreciate.
I wish I could give them the life they want so I could take away mine to help.
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You don't know how many times a day I'll relate something in my life to death.
I'll be walking down the road,
Thinking "I could jump in front of a car right now and be happy"
This doesn't faze me at all.
I'll be praying each day that some freak accident could happen to cause my death.
I want this merely so it's not self inflicted.
I like to think I'd be missed if I died, but I think no one would notice,
Or if they did, they'd be over it the next day.
If I ever killed myself my mom would be mad because "I ruined her perfect little image".
Her secret?
She's not a family woman at all.
The day my dad walked out, I had no one.
It didn't matter that she quit drinking,
the drugs continued.
She didn't talk to me about anything in particular.
I grew up hating my sister for having the bond with my mom that I never could.
She never gave me a chance.
All because of my last name that didn't resemble hers.
So I grew up feeling left out from the family.
If I died, it would be a relief for everyone.
My mom wouldn't have to pay for me anymore.
She wouldn't have to pretend like she cared in public.
She'd be free,
but not as free as me.
I can't wait for the day all this ends for me.
And maybe I didn't deserve the time of day.
But I never deserved what I got as a child,
Neglect.
I knew it was bad when she was too busy with her damn boyfriend,
To notice the bruises and scars her daughter left all over my body.
She didn't take the time to notice that I never came out of my room.
She didn't take the time to notice I would flinch if anyone came too close.
She didn't even notice that I was a social outcast.
And when she did talk to me all she did was criticize me for something I had no control over.
I'm lucky I had her as a mother,
Because that was the start of my obsession with death.
Maybe it will be the end too.
