Sometimes I wish of dying,
so much so,
that I weigh down the various options I have,
the one which will cause minimal discomfort and pain,
and quickly releaves me of all these tumorous feelings.
But you know,
each time I pledge to do so,
maybe because I’m not brave enough to pull this off,
maybe my reasons aren’t strong enough,
maybe I’m concerned about the events which will follow
or maybe there is a vestige of hope still somewhere deep down inside, calling me out against it.
The people will weep,
friends or not.
Mere acquaintances will turn into admirers,
and foes softening up on the news of my demise.
Maybe that’s what I want.
To get rid of grudges people are holding off for far too long,
to be loved and accepted,
as if there was no room for resentment and disdain.
To be embraced like never before,
with no critique at work.
Too much too ask for ?
Don’t you think ?
As humans, we want to be loved unconditionally,
with our inadequacies accepted and flaws passed off lightly.
If that’s too much,
I’m too much.
Humans are too much.