I want to feel nothing. Think nothing. Eat nothing. Sleep nothing. Cry nothing. Say nothing. Be nothing.
I want nothing on my shoulders, in my ribcage, on my fingers, in my brain, on my tummy, in my tummy.
I want to want nothing. So that when I breathe in I don’t feel a limit because my lungs do not exist. I won’t have to use them heave those heavy sighs of something(s).
I want to be as light as air but not be able to feel the temporary respite of breeze. I won’t be reminded that the good things are temporary since they wouldn’t exist at all. (Damn those bad things. Those monsoons that never seem to end; yet when they do, they leave formless grey almost-clouds in their wake.)
I want to disappear so that there are no people and I don’t have to snap at everyone else because everything they do is eating me up inside for no good reason and I want to scream and shout and strangle and stab when really in the end it’s eating me up that they’re eating me up and I’m giving them shit for nothing —
I want to escape the feeling of my thighs rubbing against each other and my arms sticking to my body and toes ever so slightly touching the next and rings only fitting on my pinky and waistlines cutting into my flesh. I want nothing to remind me of imperfection.
I want to the world to go on around me without knowing me it. Just let them float past, past, past, away, away, away — anything away from me is better.
I want to leave all the somethings that I’m only vaguely good at but can never seem to gather the motivation to be Something at.
I want to free all those somethings and forget that I mean nothing.
I just need Nothing.
Is that too much to ask?