"What are you feeling?"
I don't know.
"Why are you angry?"
I don't know.
"Are you still sane?"
I don't know.
"Are you okay?"
I don't know.

Because this smile on my face is not
An accurate representation of what I feel.
And the mirth in my voice is possibly
Even more false than a mirage.
And the anger is all-consuming yet
There's nothing in me to catch flame.
The sadness settles in like a winter night
And fades away as though it was never mine.

I don't know.
I don't know why I can't cry.
I don't know why I can't care.
I don't know why I can't rage.
I don't know.

I don't know why I idealize death.
I don't know when life became tedious.
I don't know when I lost my dreams.
I don't know when I stopped needing friends.
I don't know when it all began to seem so pointless.

I don't know.
And, at this point, I'm too far gone to care to find out.