The Cry

I cry over nothing,
I cry over myself.
no other human has been
as pathetic as I.

I soothe myself for a while,
but spontaneous pains in my chest,
beat against the prison bars of my ribs.
there is no escape for despair.

I never turned on the faucet,
never wrinkled the duvet,
but smother myself to stop the screams.
I never want to think.
or wake.
or feel.

I hate you for this.
there is no other way to put it.
I hate you for making me miniscule
and so utterly worthless
in humanity's eyes.

you, you, you...
who are you?

what am I meant to do
when I feel everything
and nothing all at once?
I can only cry.

what am I meant to say
when my breath betrays me -
abandons me?
I can only die.