Reaching For Nothing

July 21st, 2017

(Picture credits to me.)

Sleepless nights turn into hopeless days, the struggle to find meaning remains. You don't wish to get out of bed today, or any other day. Everything feels the same, like some sorted of twisted dèja vú, in which knowing that exact moment has happened before is no longer enthralling, or fascinating, as they're another part of the routine, its saddening, really. 1 am, try to sleep, inevitably fail. 2 am, drag a razor across your smooth, innocent skin, yes you're still alive, no its not a dream. 3 am, fill your time with nothing, pointless things that will never matter in the grand scheme of things, nothing matters. 5 am, fall asleep. 11 am, wake up "Again? Why do I continue to wake up, surely its been long enough." You think the same thing every morning. You spend your time in bed, it doesn't matter how long you spend in bed, nothing matters truly. 1 am, you get out of bed. Your mum is asleep on the couch, her daily nap as she wastes time before work, you debate eating. You eat, it keeps you alive. You watch an episode of what ever is on, it doesn't matter what it is, its just your escape. 2 pm, you shower. Arms, legs, torso, face, hair, just because youre depressed doesn't mean you don't want to be filthy. Your mind is filthy enough, your body has to be clean. Your done showering, your dry yourself, you have some sickening feeling that some fucking creep is outside your bathroom window, peering in as you dry yourself, its probably because you messed up on my step sequence today, you think. 2:30 pm, you read, you escape. 4 pm, you watch YouTube, you draw, the pen against paper used to satisfy you, used to make you feel proud of something. Now, all it does is fill time, and mock you. Nothing satisfies, nothing pleases, no desires, no thrills, no nothing.
You can't feel anything when you're dead.
We'll all die.
Brilliant, then nothing can remember you.