#no purpose

Here and now

Knife in hand as we speak

Brushing past the jugular vein several times

I wouldn't feel any pain

None at all

My death wouldn't be felt

Those 'closest' to me

Would live their lives easier

Free of a parasite

And leech

Without fail I strip an atmosphere of its cheerfulness

Take away people's will to live

Absorb all warmth from all nearby humans

We're cold

What does anyone get from being close to me?

Endless worry and stress

And discomfort

And apathy

Low emotional intelligence

Unforgettable stupidity

I know enough to know the world will be better off without me

What purpose do I serve if I have no god to serve, no voice to talk to, no one to praise, protect, and devote my time to? What fate is there for the nameless, hopeless, wreck who survives the severing of their wings and are tormented not by chains, not sulfur, nor by brimstone, but the unending silence of her absence.

No lover's passion, no hope that for once, just once, someone understands you for you, and loves you in that same body and mind consuming way you love them? What worthless wretch be I, so lowly as not to be deserving of a name, of even a moment of time in anyone's mind, to be so insignificant and unworthy of love.