Worth?
There’s pleasure to be felt in the pain of those that love you,
Selfish, horrendous pleasure but pleasure nonetheless.
Knowing that they feel pain when you’re not around,
Knowing that you’re missed... important... remembered...
Maybe that’s why jealousy is attractive?
That feeling betrays the ownership felt by the jealous
And assures you that someone considers you theirs.
This is probably why death is a pet fantasy of mine.
The sheer bliss of nothingness aside,
Having everyone who’s ever known me
Spare just a moment to consider my existence
Maybe even shed a tear
Feels like something worth dying for
Being forgotten, Being remembered
Is it not a measure of my worth?
Liked or faved by...
