the serenity of the abyss

I search for my decline. I sigh in an acceptable serenity after everything I've felt, and it doesn't seem enough. I don't feel fulfilled. I rummage through whatever will make me end up worse. The lower I go, the deeper I sink; the more comforted I will feel. It's so strange to think that I find a kind of calm in the midst of the end. It's not a positive calm, it's a necessary calm. That supposed calm is my discomfort. It could be defined as an addiction, the addiction to destroying myself. I feel that if I don't break, I am nothing. The only sadness that doesn't comfort me is knowing that my childhood self would be disgusted by my current self. I would feel rejection and, above all, immense sorrow. That sadness truly breaks me. The only sadness that ends my life.