Being

I want to be like them.
The ones who don’t know what’s going on. The one’s who don’t have to worry.
Worry about whether or not I’m going to die. Think about who it’s going to be knocking on my front door at two in the morning to tell my guardian, to tell my mother, that I’m not coming home tonight.
I’m not coming home tomorrow night either.
In fact, I’m never coming home again so she should just give up hope because I’m already dead.
I’ve been dead for so long I’ve forgot what it’s like to be alive

I don’t want to be the one wondering if I’m going to live to see the morning light
If tonight is going to be my last night
To smile
To laugh
To speak
To breath…

To live

I  want to be like them
Or maybe not
I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to not know. I don’t want to be them at all
I just don’t want to be me

Not anymore