Tear down the walls,
Lies, truth, tears, anger, and everything else runs down.
You’re run down yourself, you can’t move on,
You’re just stuck, numb, dead, in this position, in this rut.
The point doesn’t matter anymore, the definition of life itself no longer has an answer,
You don’t care, you don’t matter, you aren’t anything.
What’s new? You’re used to it.
The rage that seems to spiral out of nowhere,
The depression that drowns and suffocates you,
The neutrality and numbness eats you to the core, yet still,
All in all, throughout the day, you still,
Still can’t even seem to care.
There isn’t a point,
There isn’t a reason to give a fuck anymore,
There isn’t anything that could make you move now.
But then, thinking, everything seems to come back and whack you back in the face—
Attention grabber, nonetheless, it doesn’t matter, right?
Scattered dreams and hopes, they remind you,
Remind that you that you used to care, that you used to wonder where your life was going.
But now, you can barely stand to look at yourself in the mirror before it shatters to pieces.
Where did you go, who have you become, why did you tear yourself down?
Where does it come from, where does the hope go…
Why did you leave?
And you split in two, and the pieces don’t fit together, and you can’t seem to figure it out, still.
But it doesn’t matter, conjunctions don’t mend you together,
Bonds have been broken, those ties have been majorly severed,
Still though, it doesn’t matter.
Because you still can’t even seem to get the energy to say something other than no,
What’s the point anyway, if you hated who you were before?
And you suddenly realize—
That is the point.
It doesn’t matter what you do, who you choose, who you love, whatever seems to burst out of your traumatized, agonized mind,
That it doesn’t matter.
And the motivation is gone.
You proclaim that you do,
But in the end,
Alone and confused you are.