No Title

Somedays I want to fold into myself, like a thin piece of paper.

One fold.

Two folds.

Three folds.

Four folds.

I want to occupy the minimum space I can.

Just bundle up in a corner

and hope to not exist.

Not die, no. Not that at all.

I just want to disappear from the universe,

from the surface of the planet,

from the mind and memory of every human being.

Just not be there, altogether.

Because that is what I think it will take to not feel the pain I hold within the crevices of my twisted soul.

What is the threshold of misery?

How much pain can a heart bear?

It’s something I never wondered,

but now I think I know.

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