I used to ask myself

I used to ask myself

In my many moments

Of desperation, of silence

What am I worth?

I had many illogical answers

Floating in my mysterious head

Many of which weren’t good

Or great or maybe positive

I still ask myself

This utopia of a question

And the answers remain the same

But I do not know why

I do not seem to care anymore

Mainly because the answer

Isn’t in my odd, mystic head

But in my cold, dying heart.

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