Why is it that I only find strength
when there is nothing to fight against?

Why is it that love must
come after pay day?

Why is it that I only take to writing,
once I have realised I have no time for it?

Why is it I only value living,
once I feel dead inside?

Why is it that people only look at me,
when I've given up
and walked away?

Why is it that the words come to me,
only after silence has fallen?

Why is it that I find myself dreaming,
yet can never get any sleep?

Why is it, my darling,
that when you touch me,
you feel nothing at all?