Asking for Myself

You ever get the feeling that people only associate with you so you won’t kill yourself?

Like, they can see that somewhere not too deep below the surface,

You’re holding back the ever present urge to just…

Off yourself,

And they don’t want your suicide on their conscience..

Most people avoid you for the same reason,

But those stragglers that hold on till the end,

Are they there for you or for them?

I know most don’t like me. That’s clear.

What I don’t know is why I’m still here.

I don’t get it, though.

What is it about me that’s so damn unlikable?

So damn fundamentally despicable?

There’s got to be something

They all see

In my energy

That’s disgusting.

Something unworthy.

What then is the purpose of me?

Why do I have to be me?

Why won’t life release me?

Why if I were to share these thoughts,

Would they be repulsed

And obligated to “befriend” me

Simultaneously?

Why not just let me end and be done with me?

No one actually likes me so why salvage the garbage?

They’re like pack rats or hoarders, holding on in vain for a possible purpose

That will likely never manifest.

They don’t even believe I could ever be my best.

It’s when I’m doing well

That I can most easily tell

That they all loath me.

So why hold me

When I’m begging to go?

Is there anyone who knows?

Why do they have to pretend?

I’m asking for myself, cuz I have no friends.

Fuck the haters; just do it for the fans!