Nothing has meaning.
Everything is pointless,
an inane transient cloud.
A single breath of smoke.

Think of all the blood and tears
that you pour into your work.
What do you actually gain
from any of your labouring?
Generations flourish then fade
each one replacing another that passes,
leaving no sign they were ever there,
only the dirt that fell from their feet.

The dawn sun drags itself into the sky
then falls back down as dusk comes,
repeating its dreary cycle over and over
with the same numbing certainty.
The wind gusts towards the south
then changes and rushes north,
mindlessly blowing one way then another,
constant in its confused and erratic pursuits.

Every drop of water ends in the ocean
but the seas are never satiated and so
the rivers and streams keep flowing,
repeating their tedious cycles again.
Every aspect of life inspires apathy
and is filled with indescribable monotony.
Each dull thing bores the eyes blind
and deafens the ears with mundanity.

All that has once been will be again.
Every single thing that takes place
is merely an imitation of another.
There is nothing original on earth.
Some people might claim or insist
that they have something new to offer,
but you can guarantee that all it will be
is a rehashed and repackaged cliché.

All that man achieves will pass away
and the supposedly great things
that will be accomplished in the future,
will also fade  into nothingness.

This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me
This is all of me

Spending a month in a hospital teaches you a lot about people.
The doctor that told me to shave my head or she wouldn't treat me,
The nurses that spent forever chatting to me
And giving me supportive advice about how my illness doesn't define me.
The woman who was given a terminal cancer sentence
And chose not to pay attention to it and defied it anyway.
How she sat next to me on my bed,
Told me that all suffering is valid,
And just because I'm not dying, doesn't mean I don't get to complain.
How she complains more about her skin problems
Than she ever complained about her cancer,
And that's OK, because pain rarely follows rules.
I never even learned her name,
But she gave me the words I hold most closely to me
On those days when I want to fall asleep and never wake up.
I'm allowed to scream and shout and rage against the pain
And the unfairness of it happening to me.
I just have to make sure I know where the line is
Between giving my darkness a voice and pitying myself.

He holds it comfortably in his mouth
Like a boiled sweet or a segment of orange
And when he says it , the sound is natural.
As if worn leather or turned wood could speak,
It sounds homely like a crackling log fire
But is also jarring like a metal nail
being dragged across a piece of slate.

The only part of my day
That I look forward to
Is when I go to bed
And lay there making up scenarios
In my head.

I think of comebacks
To 8th grade bullies.
I think of witty retorts
To my mother's snide comments.
I think of intelligent things to add
To conversations I had months ago.

I think of all the things
I was too scared to say.

And in my mind
I say them.
And pretend how things would be different
If only I had the courage to speak.

When I close my eyes at night,
When I lay on my bed, I
Hear Shadows and
See Voices.

I begin to scream in silence,
Pleading for my anonymous Lover,
Hiding Somewhere
To Save me,
I lay helpless without wings
As darkness falls,
Leaving me wandering in the dark hours.

I slowly espied through my windows,
Like a princess waiting for a serenade coming from the Northern Winds.
Can I wait through out the night?
This night is getting too long,
I need a friend,
Someone to carry me in his wings to lands unknown.
Or maybe I could swing from the Chandelier,
And find myself on your Shores.

And
Here he comes,
To Save me from the hands of loneliness.
Opening my eyes,
It was nothing
But an imagination,
Here I am, again waiting for a serenade to
Come with in search for me,
For cold is the winds that comes from the Southern Pole.'