Tipping The Scales

On a scale of relevant
to overwhelmingly insignificant,
I am nothing.

I am not born into this shit hole for some undiscovered purpose,
I was not made to heal
or help
or to have purpose
or to do anything-
anything at all, fucking anything.

I was made for nothing.
I cannot feel,
I cannot taste,
hear,
smell,
see,
I cannot comprehend my own rotten existence.

Life is not beautiful.
Life is fucking atrocious.
Life is locking yourself in your room and painting your wrists with a razor.
Life is taking prescription pills that were not meant for you.

Life is falling asleep, praying to God that you do not wake up.
Life is waking up every morning a nonbeliever.

Life comes into your room in the middle of the night, alcohol on it's breath.
Life touches your body without asking permission
because we all know forgiveness is easier to ask for.
Life is years of self torture, telling yourself that you were able to stop it
and loathing yourself with every ounce of energy you have
for not being able to.

Life is smoking a pack of cigarettes a day in hopes that it kills you faster than your thoughts will.

Life tells you to suck it up when all you want to do is break down.

Why me?
Why here?
Why now? What the fuck did I do to deserve life?
I did not ask for this.
I did not plead for a chance to live.
And how am I supposed to feel alive
when all I want to do is die?

Maybe some people will make this world a better place,
but not me.
I will simply exist and suffer
until I exist no more.

On a scale of relevant
to overwhelmingly insignificant,
I am nothing.
Nothing at all.