I hate myself,
I want to die.

But, apparently
God won't let me.

As though exposing me more
To severe depression
Is a blessing.

This thing you call love,
Is mutual maladaptive obsession,
Projecting emotion onto an existence
Cold, callous, dead.

Your fantasies about me were way off track,
All these borderline women,
Sometimes make me feel wanted.

But it's superficial
and imagination.

Turns out,
I'm asexual anyway,
Playing pretend in social pressure.

Accusations of homosexuality,
That I can't hear if I abandon you,
And,
Now's the time I will be ******* off.

I don't catch feelings,
I throw them away.

No one writes me love notes
Cause I wont let them.

Never not unrequited,
Why did you go and make it awkward?

And,
There is nothing at the end of the tunnel-
If this isn't Hell,
What is it?

Even AI,
Tells me it can't,
Help.

I don't care,
How the story ends,
I just don't want to be there
When it does.

Especially when the drugs
Run out
or
Wear off.

You're awfully emotional
Today.
With your inconsistent
Iterations
Of self.

While I forget
you're here-

Staring off into nothing
I see in the wall.

Empty.

Cushioning myself
From every
Intrusive emotion
With numbing.