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I don't wish to die, rather I desire to not exist. To not have to experience this anymore. To never have been born. To go to sleep, forever. There is such bliss in nothingness, that I will never get to feel.
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So are you to my thoughts as food to life, Or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground; And for the peace of you I hold such strife, As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found. Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure; Now counting best to be with you alone, Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure; Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, And by and by clean starvËd for a look; Possessing or pursuing no delight Save what is had, or must from you be took. Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
Sonnet 75
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