Broken Part

There's a part of me,
a very honest part,
a very broken part of myself,
that believes,
beyond all doubt,
that I,
as the awful person I am,
would be better off gone,
and the world,
would be better off,
without me,
without the burden,
of my inexplicable,
misery.
Thinking it over,
over and over again,
the way to end,
what should have never began,
whether it is better,
to walk away,
free at last,
or to hold on,
dreaming of the possibility,
of finding peace,
in my own way,
in a good way,
if I can ever find it.
That doubt,
that seems to be everywhere,
destroys me at every turn,
leaving me,
in the same way,
I have dreamt of leaving them,
clueless,
and indifferent,
to the change,
that has been caused to them,
that they have no say in,
and no hope,
even in the most hope filled moments,
of changing,
any of it.