Sorry

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?