What a waste of breath

I don’t want to die.

the after unknown scares me beyond comprehension.

I don’t want to feel the pain that accompanies death;

in whatever form that may be,

I just know I’m not strong enough to withstand it; if that’s even an applicable thing in this situation.

and yet here I stand,

not knowing how to continue in survival mode throughout my current disarray;

my own constant state of just miserably, existing.

as if each moment that passes,

I become further lost in this world.

lost as to what my purpose is, or what I'm heading to.

the sun falls to the darkness each night,

just as I fall weak to the growing self doubt.

allowing my mind to wander to the thoughts I'm sure would shake others to their cores.

but for I, those hidden thoughts slowly become the only purpose I feel I may have.

because it's become almost as if with every breath my purpose to live becomes less defined.

because each breath represents another second I’m taking viable oxygen from those who deserve this life more so than I;

those with meaning to the world.

because I feel as if my meaning went out the window many moons ago.

and if I knew where to lead myself,

to grasp something more—I’d do it faster than the breaths I’ve wasted on this.