I am sunk. If you need me, you can find me at the bottom of the ocean. I will be covered in squid ink. But no matter how much I write on paper, you will never understand me. And whenever I say that what I have is not enough, I also wonder what more it is that I could actually want. Sometimes I want to get rid of things that I have, just so I could see what it would feel like to not have those things. I deserve to burn up, to be engulfed in flames, so that all that is left of me is dust. And then you can fling those pieces of me out into the ocean and have the wind carry them away.