I’ve been disintegrating for so long, when I finally caught myself, there was not much left. Barely survived the toll I took on myself. Weighed down by the search for purpose, that was as futile as you guessed. Waking up to the rumbles of the world, parched and heaving because your dreams seem more significant than this wretched reality. Pining over having no place, nothing of relevance, fading away into the very oblivion that scares you shitless. Materials are forgotten, yet materialistic motives drive the world. Where do you fit in? No body, no soul and no trace left behind, as futile as the ashes, embers and the fires that fuel you. Just another day, just another existential crisis, on this barren planet where nothing remains. Your consciousness contemplating your cosmic importance, just pestering in the back of your head, leading you to the sad inevitable realization over and over again.
I was a child one day, I was done growing up the next. Do you get to choose who you are? Do you get to shape who you become? Or are you just slave to substance and circumstance, being moulded into something that the world can tolerate by hiding away behind masks of normality and sanity? Detached from your true self, blinded from the truth by the pain, deaf to your very own screams and cries by the anguish. So take a break from the self destruction and self hate to take a peek at the void in which you really reside. Peel through the layers you use to cover up your real self. The original you that’s too much of a coward to try, cause everything is forgotten. The version of yourself that hides behind the excuse of futility. The only version of yourself that can leave a mark, laying low in fear of being absolutely nothing.