The heart of a poet

Not living

I'm no longer living, just casually waiting until I start dying
Living is loving, living is not caring
Not what I do,
Checking off the days, hoping something goes wrong
Living is not begging a student driver to hit you with their car
Living isn't checking off the days you have to live
At this point I'm barely alive, hell I hate life
Everyday alone crying wishing this pain of mine would go away
And no I'm not pleading for your sympathy I'm just telling you about my internal screaming that's like a symphony
I hate living everyday wishing that I wasn't alive
And there's nothing I can do to change this
The main reason I feel like dying and that has me crying is the same reason that is holding me up from making a potentially big mistake
But what's the point of living if I don't have the will
So many times in my life where I've almost died because of severe allergies I was born with
But somehow every time I've lived and am here today writing this poetry
But in the end this isn't living and I don't know what living is anymore