I can’t breathe. What’s the secret?
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry that I want to let you go.
I’m sorry I can’t carry myself anymore. I’ve gotten too heavy.
My mind has weighed me down.
I’m dying. I’m laughing.
Is death the answer?
I’m worried because I can’t care.
I’m worried because I don’t care.
Don’t be mad.
I can’t help but to ghost you.
Myself included.
Why am I like this?
So self-destructive,
so deprecating,
so mad,
and so unhappy.
My heart, my lungs, and my soul.
Does it make a difference if I’m breathing
but I’m not alive in my head.
Does anything really matter when I feel so sad and cold?
Will it matter when I’m dead?
Will anything change when it all ends?