Oblivion.

At times I contemplate the pros of dying.

I wish for it. I _long_ for it. I grow impatient. I consider making it happen. I have nothing to fear.

What is the point of living If I am not happy? There is a feeling deep inside of me that keeps telling me _"You will never be happy._ _You will never be loved."_

Most of the time I give in And let the voice tell me exactly what I want to hear.

Maybe one of these days I will follow it into the unknown And float away into sweet

oblivion.