If I really tried
I could be nothing.
But I know it hurts you
when I talk like that.
You always told me
that I was going to be somebody some day,
but I know if the blade was just a little sharper
I could finally be nothing.
You were so proud of me
the day I started writing.
You didn't know
about the other things I'd written.
The notes.
And when you finally found them,
I remember you cried.
You told me not to be so hard on myself
as if I could help it.
You said you were sorry
for the things you did and didn't say.
I said it was okay.
I would be fine
someday.
And yet here I am
deciding whether I have what it takes
to be nothing.
To not exist.
To be gone from this world forever.
To finally know the peace of oblivion.
But I know it hurts you
when I talk like that
and I could never do that to you
so I'll try my best
to be something
someday.