I could write about depression,
But too many people deal with it
I could write about pain and heartache,
But too many have to feel it
I could write about life,
But too many live it
I could write about hell,
But too many have to deal with it
I could write about pity and how few know its existence,
But that’s a waste of time
I could write about friendships,
But everyone feels something or other that comes from it
I could write about suicide,
Because few know about how it hurts
I could write about death,
But it hurts too many
So here I sit writing about nothingness,
Because few realize its existence,
For everything else feels its space one way or another