Suffocating

A poem I wrote after losing someone I thought was my friend, before realizing it actually was not my fault. (17 April 2017)

Chaos is always surrounding me like a blanket...
No, that sounds too comforting. It's more like a cloud of poisonous gas following me around, choking anyone who gets near me.
And I don't try to destroy things or hurt anyone with my own hands.
I try so hard to cleanse the polluted air around me. Or at least hand out some masks to protect the lungs of the people I start to care for.
But it always sneaks in and creeps through to suffocate them anyway and leave me alone to watch.

I'm starting to think maybe I wasn't put here to make people's lives better like I so desperately wanted to as a child.
Make someone smile every day.
Heal someone.
Bandage up souls.
No.
I haven't been able to do that for quite some time now. It seems I am made to make people question themselves and break them into oblivion.
I don't do it myself, so it's not my fault, right? Wrong. It's my fault for thinking I can get that close to people and assuming things will be different.
Maybe I was not made for the pearly gates. Maybe the fires await me. Or maybe I am meant to walk around this earth forever, living a thousand miserable lives. Maybe there is no escape, there is no end.

Is there anyone out there who is immune to this poison?
There has to be. I couldn't have hurt everyone, right?
Or maybe with some people the process is much slower, and I will watch them perish too.

I don't want to.

Author's Note

My thoughts are often sporadic. But hopefully this one kept pretty connected throughout.