Nothing:

Here’s a uncertainty with an abhorrent retort.
What do I feel now the memoirs snarl at my heels?

Wretchedness for what the creature I was,

Or hatred for the beast I might become again?

Sorrow for what I did?
Or fury for what I may do once more?

The answer is simpler than one plus one.

It is the sum of all nothing.

My hands shake as I hold onto your scissors.
I see what I once was, the self-hater, the denier of all joy.

Castaway shadows flicker in my mind.
Images of the girl with the blade and the blood stained wrist.

I throw them away, fighting the allure.
But the Desire for more is always butchering me in the flipside of my mind.

But I know I cannot run forever.
The tears, the pain, the torment will overflow soon.

And, when it does, I hope it won’t be too late…
I hope I am still able to be alive when the tears fall.

I hope the sensations aren’t buried too deep.
Beneath the scars, the anger and the mirth.

I hope I can let myself go and forget everything.
Disregard those who marred me with so much good grace.

Tonight I lie in my bed.
Thinking of you all.

And I hope, in the end, that I can still feel.

Because I know I cannot anymore.