What left of me?

The air suffocates me, room feels like a prison, city – like a cattle-pen. Any form of entertainment does not fill heart like it used to, it merely makes me forget my misery for a bit. And when I am alone – I can’t escape thought of suicide. No one have to love me. But still, I hoped that someone would. I tried to be a best person I could, but that was obviously not enough. I have a plan of easy death, still need some tests, though, to do it right. To avoid more pain, to avoid failure. But the plan calms me. I can sleep much easier now when I know I can end it all. Pain drained everything out of me, drained anger, drained love, drained happiness, drained ambition… Don’t even know what left of me, other, than pain. I’ve become calm and calculated. I have to wear a mask of old me, cheerful and witty. Someone said, to feel relief you need to be alive. It is enough for me to not fell pain, even if I won’t feel everything else as well.