sometimes i wish i was enough for you,
and sometimes i think i am,
but most times i know i’m less of her than i should be,
which is ironic because i know she feels the same about me,
she is as inferior to me, as i am to her,
i think all of this results from the facts that we share the same toilet,
and we look into the same mirror,
so maybe we both see the same shitty person.
sometimes it’s so hard to breathe,
and sometimes it’s so hard to exhale,
but most times it’s so hard to keep existing,
it’s not that i’m depressed,
it’s just that i feel like i’m just there,
occupied space,
i never know what i’m doing,
and im always crying,
and im always thinking about death,
and writing poems about how beautiful my grave should be.
-that other day, that other time.
