Are my words beautiful, do they hold weight?
Do they have meaning, or just imitate?
All of them feel so endlessly reused...
I write to enjoy the feeling I’ve abused.

But I feel nothing, no emotion found,
These words are empty, drifting all around.
Still, I answered the call without regret,
So self-absorbed, I can't escape this set.

That’s all I am, just drifting with the tide,
My words pour out, they come, they will not hide.
Mailbox full of emails, spam once again,
I write as long as I can, but it’s in vain.

Until the **** finally hits the fan...