It's like things go on around me but I'm not part of them.

I'm numb to the pain waiting for me, numb to the people who don't notice I am reaching to them because my arms are weak, shoulders heavy. It's okay. I know no one will be there for me anymore. I can maybe get transportation to and from surgery. It's supposedly my fault but it isn't, but I must still pay like it is because that makes people comfortable enough to tolerate my existence. I wish my mom was alive. A bit more scraps thrown in the dirt but no one to fight with. I will have lived and died with so much love that nobody ever wanted. I believed all this time, all these lies I told myself, of worth and purpose. Maybe that is the blessing, to not be devastated from the other side because I already know, I was meant to die alone. And people heard me say this and still let me, the end.