Nothing. That's what it all means to me
It's funny that after all the things I've worked so hard for there's nothing but questions
Questions of why I exist, where I'm headed, and whether all of it would be worth it
Beneath the mask of laughter and humor lies someone who's afraid of the dark
Not the darkness that comes with the night, but the shadow that comes with the light
I am blind to myself, it is such a struggle to keep writing it all down
The whole process of writing is lost on me but who gives a shit anyway
I open the wounds that I thought would've healed with time
I guess that's how it is with me, even my writing is chaos
Unfathomable and urgent, I never know if it will be my last piece to write
Love is just a word to me whatever I might've said in the past
I understand the concept but not the experience
I've built a fortress of solitude and surrounded it with a moat of apathy
Because if there's one thing I know, it is that time changes everything
Perspectives that I used to believe in are no longer there, what's left is a pulsing emptiness
You might ask, what's the point in all of this nonsense?
There is no point, the only rule is that there are no rules
I am writing because I want to, because the only integrity that's left is in here
Written down in all its profanity and disregard for what's left of my sanity