The sound of the mind

Listen                                                                                                                                                                                         can you hear it?

The sound of absence.

Just the static of the broken TV;                                                                                                                                 the creeks and cracks of the basement stairs.

Nothingness isn't just an empty void.

It's a void of despondence and anxiety,                                                                                                               filled with paranoia and despair.                                                                                                                               But you really don't care,

do you?

Ignore the quiet.                                                                                                                                    Try and plug your ears to block the deafening silence. 

Maybe if you try hard enough, you can shut yourself off from reality to the point of madness, then maybe, just maybe voices will come and fill the empty vacuum,

the vacuum of which nothing is ever heard. 

The world around you has grown to peak at its worst. Humanity has turned against its cease to even exist.

Do we really think the world is ours? 

That this existence of the universe of an eternity was meant for just our use? For our own useless discoveries of things that aren't our own to label and describe? For our own resources and advantage to keep and throw out if not considered useful?

Are we that selfish? Is that really what we think it was all meant to be for. 

Yet existence is eternally expanding and never ending,                                                                                     so what are we of importance to the infinite pool of reality that contains us.

 To it, we aren't even considered proportional to the protons of what we believe to be the very substance of matter.  So why do we make use of it. It's all pointless, isn't it? Our own conflicts and emotions all lead to nowhere and don't have any importance to it.

So isn't it just pointless to do anything at all?

You no longer are real. Your just one in the infinite amount of people that have been, are, and would of been in the durability of humanity.

That's why you don't have to hear or see.                                                                                                               To feel or touch.                                                                                                                                                                 To taste or speak. 

It's all pointless. 

So back to the nothingness of your mind you go, and try and find meaning of the world around you. Your thoughts are drowning in the deep sea of black born despair and despondency. 

Static is the only form of amusement available now.                                                                                         And the flourishing tendrils that infect your mind. Every second they tighten their grip. 

Will you ever hear again? The sweet children laughing? The soothing breeze of the wind? The small chirping of the birds? Or are all but the darkened parts of life just blurred in the back-round out of focus?

Well you don't really care do you?

Because nothing matters to be cared for.