Nothing
Nothing
I’m nothing.
I always have been.
Just a whisper in the air,
Begging to be someone,
To be there.
Nothing,
This poem is nothing.
Because nothing wrote it.
Everything I feel is nothing.
Because I’m nothing.
Everything I say.
Is nothing.
My cuts are nothing.
Because nothing made them.
My blood is nothing.
Because it’s nothing.
My pain is nothing.
Because I’m nothing.
This doesn’t mean anything.
Because this is nothing.
I was born nothing.
And I will die.
Nothing.
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