I wish that I could take the hollowness inside of me
And hold it in the palm of my hand.
I wish that I could hand it to someone
And say to them
"See, this is why I feel the way I do sometimes"
And they would nod
And everyone would feel bad
But then everyone would feel good because
They may finally understand

But what do I have to be upset about?
I've never had a real experience in my life
I waste most of my money
On video games and vinyl
And taking my girlfriend out to restaurants in the city
But I'm never strapped for cash
My bank account rarely suffers

I've never felt alive in my entire life
I spend my friday nights alone
Drinking expensive IPAs
And surfing the web

A perfectly meaningless existence

I work a full time job
And get by by telling people that there is more to me
That I'm working on something
A fantasy piece
Some poetry
"That book will be coming along any time"
When I have never written a single page

The more time you spend talking about it
The less time you actually spend doing it

I have delusions where I am rich and famous
The public grabbing for my alligator boots
My words engraved on great marble slabs in the town square

Delusions are delusions because there is no process
Instead,
The desired effect is already achieved
There are never details
Just the desired ending
Like a fairy tale