2.25 Free Write

I’m running out of words when they all seem so the same

I’m running from the world when

I’ve lost my inspiration

Along with vain production of a changing motivation

I’ve been to both the high and the lowest places ,For which all I can say is

everything is cyclical

The cycle inescapable

They say the secret is simply not to think at all

So you’re not made aware

Of the gaping space in your soul

Everybody’s getting fucked over

The Good,the Bad, or another just No one

There are no answers for any of the above

I’ve searched and I’ve scoured 

Tireless through the seemingly countless hours

But the sand falls, always just

And ever amounts to nothing but


And wasting


And fabricating

Just to have something to sate through to the next day

And all this complaining for a place so brief and overrated

I know we’re just waiting

Wasting, Lying, blinding, creating

Reaching in vain

For that one someone something 

That’s never but so soon

But I’m old enough to know the truth

That everything’s empty by tomorrow

But there’s nothing else to do.


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