At times
I contemplate
the pros of dying.

I wish for it.
I long for it.
I grow impatient.
I consider making it happen.
I have nothing to fear.

What is the point of living
If I am not happy?
There is a feeling
deep inside of me
that keeps telling me
“You will never be happy.
You will never be loved."

Most of the time
I give in
And let the voice tell me
exactly what I want to hear.

Maybe one of these days
I will follow it into the unknown
And float away
into
sweet

oblivion.