Picture creds, me.
We live in a world of make believe, dreams that will never come true, skies that will never be reached, lies and hopes etched into brains, fake traits thst determine who we are.
I'm tired, I'm numb, I don't want to do anything besides lay down, and or cut myself, nothing is worth it. I don't necessarily want to die, I just want to not exist. Everything feels the same. I'm bored, and unmotivated. I want to draw, but there is no point. Nothing matters, and nothing will bring satisfaction.
YOU ARE READING
Reaching For Nothing
PoetryThese are short little things of my thoughts, some considered sad, maybe. A lot of them are about space/the sky. I write them when I'm having existential crises. Its primarily written in 2nd person, with "you" but these are primarily my experiences...
