I am the person who writes the things that nobody reads.
I sing the songs that nobody hears.
I draw the things that nobody looks at.
I am but a ghost. An imprint of what once was or would have been.
I should experience harm.
The most painful death.
People always ask why I think this.
I deserve it.
I deserve every cut, every scrape, every bruise.
I deserve to die.
Wether or not it's slowly or over time.
It doesn't matter.
I scream the screams that nobody hears.
I cry the tears that nobody sees.
I cut my skin open so that people will see that I need help.
But if you want to call that attention seeking, go ahead.
I am the voice that goes unheard, the opinions unsaid.
The unrequited love that I so yearn for only exists in a world where I am invisible.
And longingly I stare out the window.
Contemplating what I should say.
Thinking about the next move I should make.
Wondering if I'll even make it through another day.
The only thing I can say is that the tears I am crying sting my skin like lemon juice would in a paper cut.
I am empty.
I am broken.
I am useless.
I am clinically depressed.
Worst of all, I am me.
And that is why today I must suffer.
