This is our way of life
Turning and turning around, never stopping
Competing in a never-ending race for the end
Not knowing what our destination is,
But running, sprinting towards for something, anything
To tell us, to comfort us
That the sacrifices we made along the way
Was worth it for a temporary relief, and a futile reward.

Now do you understand me?

How useless our lives are, in the grand scheme of things
We mean nothing.
We are just a string of words
Names in a yellowed book
Photos from a forgotten memory
Numbers on a shadowy screen
Pure nonsense scrambles out of our mouths
Wishing to make sense of our existence.

To do something, anything,
To make our time worthy, to find reason.
To fill in the holes in the space between us
To give purpose in a meaningless life
To give hope in a society of melancholy
To give us something to believe in.

We attach useless answers to these questions
But there is no point in this senseless action
Twirling in the insanity of the universe
The desperation to feel needed and be used, to feel loved and be hated
It makes us whole, full, complete
Like we were never missing anything in the first place
It removes the longing void in our hearts, and the empty aching in our souls

God, I ******* hate myself.

Every ill-timed breath is struggle
It serves as a reminder of how difficult it is to live
A temporary relief from the harsh reality of the world
An explosion of euphoria from the joy of living,
Then the regret that comes with a slow, painful death
Forgetting, forgiving, for someone.  

The crazy, turning, twisting world
That lifts me off my feet, and forces me to walk
I'm dying and breathing and living in a world,
In a tiny universe, where I am worth less than a penny
Because I have burnt out my candle, the light no longer flickers
And I have cut off my stems, the petals. will wither, and eventually die.

Realisation dawns upon me, a strange sun in the starry sky
On a planet, where everything, anything and something has meaning,
It will never be enough.
Nothing is good enough.

Nothing.

I repeat this word to understand my position
My task, my hand, my purpose
I don't know what else exists for me
Except burying myself into the roots of this world

Nothing.

I amount to nothing, nothing, nothing.
Always, and absolutely
Nothing, nothing at all.

I don't understand.