I have no life, and so I live,
I don't pretend, I don’t forgive
The lie that "having a life" means cheer,
That building walls will make it clear
That happiness is something earned,
A prize to seek, a truth unturned.

While others rush to craft new plans,
To build their worlds in shifting sands,
They think they live, they think they’ve won,
But I know better—I'm not one
To build a life just to disguise
The aching truth that lies inside.

They chase the glitter, race the clock,
With therapy, friends, the endless talk,
They distract themselves from real despair,
While I sit still and breathe the air—
The truth that stings, the pain that’s real,
The world that doesn't care or heal.

In not engaging, I find a peace,
In silence, there’s a sweet release.
By doing nothing, I face it all,
And see the world for what’s its call.
The “life” they seek is just a lie,
A way to hide from truth, to try
And fill the gaps, to mask the ache—
But in the void, there’s no mistake.

I am alive in doing none,
I see the world as it’s undone.
While others “live,” they simply hide,
Building lives that sweep aside
The raw, the real, the truths we face—
But I’m content in empty space.