I hate that feeling of being needed, but taken for granted.

like y'all don't really need me despite how much I do for you.

and I'm left holding that short straw in our life dingy, the next to give my body for nourishment. and unlike the plane crash in the Andes, there is no gratitude. just more fucking trash.

I'm sinking to the bottom, and as I look up to the fading light, I can see the last starlight I'll ever see, into the crushing depths. to feed the bottom dwellers or maybe just feed some scavengers.

and just never be found or thought of again.

I am dead inside

creep