Complex Illusions

An ode to our lost hobbies [Chapter 2]

 I lazily spin a knife in my hand, I have no motivation to do anything productive. Motivation was sadly hard to come by, I always knew the things I did didn't matter. When you know nothing you do means anything, it becomes hard to even want to do anything at all.  My methods of production are quite horrible, I lack the care or motivation to do things at most times, and would rather lay in bed or watch something.  I'm dedicated to such few things it should be a crime, whirls of creativity do not fly and sparks of hope do not air. The silver lining never shows as light never hits it perfectly. Golden wisp and whirls of leaves never fall during winter since they're already dead, so why do we reminisce when it's cold? Why do we wish for the beauty in the old when we can warm up the new? 

 The knife slips out of my hand and falls onto the floor, I stare blankly. All I can ever do is stare. Blank with no thoughts, a clean slate with nothing true to it. My clock ticks, it ticks and tocks a mournful yet judging melody.  The ticking melody being the only thing keeping me afloat in moments like these, something to hold onto with my weak hands. Weak, that is all I am. Weak, pitiful and lonely. No interest and hobbies, nothing to do except play games on a pc for others to watch. I sigh, thoughts flurrying around me. 

Oh what to do, what to stream and play? What to do after that and what do I do after that? What is there to do, what is new? What is interesting in all of the new? My mind fights with it's own thoughts, sloppy and brutal with the way it swings its metaphorical swords at each other. No empathy or care, no want for it to be a peaceful death. My thoughts continue to spiral as I daze at the knife. It sits there unmoving, oblivious because it is incapable of thought. It is but an object that I am projecting onto. Lazily, I kick it under my desk. I'll pick it up later. 

 Light streams into my kitchen, illuminating everything with sunlight. The window basically glows from the amount of light getting through. My counter is clean with ingredients for pancakes on it, the batter in the process of being made and the toppings being finished. I whisk to stop the senseless worries, to feel some sense of worth. Baking and cooking are fun and some of the only things I can do. I wish I was limitless in my abilities, in my hobbies and wants. But my wants and pleas are worthless as they stay unanswered, no god is able to save me, no deity is able to undo the sickness in my heart. 

I ponder, oh how I ponder.