If only you could live through me

I'm tired. I'm sick of all of this. I can't keep on going knowing that I think too fast and too much about things that shouldn't even cross my mind in the first place.

I miss the old days, when I used to think that pondering about the meaning of life was as deep as you could possibly get, but now that's just something I dismiss everyday because the answer seems way too obvious to be worth my precious time.

But why can't anyone else see it too, if it's so clearly written all around them? How can they simply act upon stuff and move on, without ever questioning a thing they do? Because lately it seems like that's all I can do.

Question.
Question.
Question.

The more questions I ask, the less answers I get, yet still the desire to ask even more keeps consuming me and tempting me to rip my own brains out and tear them to shreds, both my vessel and my nemesis.

This is not what I'm supposed to be doing. This is not what I was made for.

But yet again, if I don't ask these questions, who will?

I'm only as free as I am condemned to carry this burden. But if only you could live through me...