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.