everyday i wake up, stare at the inside of my eyelids and search for a feeble reason to scrape open my tired eyes, get out of bed, and start yet another day, alive.
i always find myself searching for reasons of why i am alive, and why i should continue to be, trying to numb the stinging in my chest from the ***** that fails to pump blood through my arteries at times, battered and worn out
im looking im looking i've spent my entire existence looking for something that doesnt even ******* exist
and i hate searching for these meaningless answers because i am so disgustingly aware we are all trying to find them and i hate the idea that i am living my life just as every other human being is
even my pain is unoriginal
i sit in my room and i write poetry on my laptop, not trying to make sense of the world but just trying to unfold my tangled mind that does not seem to understand any information being inputted inside of it on a day to day basis
i sit in my room writing about a world that doesn't even deserve to be written about
the world is a mess and the world is selfish and i don't know how things used to be but i know as of right now the sun doesn't shine, it burns with hellfire and seems to radiate waves of hate down upon the biosphere, burning and scathing the flesh of worthless creatures attempting to live undominated, "happy" and "successful" lives
the wind doesn't blow beautifully through my hair, the wind blows in an attempt to push me off a cliff, to guide me towards my own self-destruction and to remind me of how easily things can fall apart
see the world is not beautiful
the world just exists
any kind of meaning i am trying to establish in my writing is just a lie, there isn't a single aspect to this life that naturally means something and after all this time i continue to spill empty words onto a blank screen hoping it will fill the area in my chest that lacks substance, but my heart continues to bleed
my brain is deteriorating and i can't feel anything anymore