Blame it on The Wind

Nothing After All

They only want to read poetry when it involves the beauty of nature

Well how is this for nature? What if I left myself to decay, thus feeding the soil beneath me

What if I left myself to hang? Put myself on display for the world to see?

They only want to read poetry when it involves love

Well how is this for love? What if I said I would love to feel the sweet embrace of death?

There's no amount of love in this world that could save someone like me

But that's not what they want to hear, I am only to speak of the sunnier side

They only want to read poetry when it involves excessive optimism

Well how is this for optimism? What if I said I'm optimistic about the demise for those

who are like me and don't care to see what the future holds for us

But that's not what they want to hear, I am only to have faith that everything will change

They only want to read poetry when it involves my life's successes

Well how is this for success? What if I said that I have not succeeded in anything that mattered?

What if I said that success is designed to be met by a specific demographic, one that I'm

not a part of?

But that's not what they want to hear, I am only to take the little things I've done and

form it into something that could matter someday, somehow

They only want to read poetry when it involves joy

Well how is this for joy? I find joy in knowing that everything is temporary and

that someday I won't have to deal with this bullshit that we call "life"

Where is the life in being completely miserable all your life? Why am I meant to

find joy when I am at my absolute limit and have hit rock bottom?

What exactly does that help? Nothing

Nothing. That must be what I am

And so it shall be, nothing is what matters

But matters to who exactly? The world will keep spinning without the nothingness that I am

So I'll stand alone and find the point of it all