life commentary, poetry, personal writings and photograpy

putrid motion

My existence grows in its pointless efforts. I continue to struggle, fight, grow, be. Nothing is anything. Goals and changes cycle through fed on disappointment and failure. Here I am again, just the same, just as broken and degraded into minuscule contributions to a never ending dream of ultimate endings. Why? Why am I even still alive, let alone giving any effort of any kind to anyone or anything? This entire collection of thought is complete shit, complete useless, false expression. It feels like nothing, but that is what to expect of life, nothing. I cannot feel anything but void. Voids of emotion, pleasure, meaning, voids of who I am, who I was and who I will never be.

Here. Take it. Take whats left of me and please destroy it beyond recondition. Hide the pieces, never speak of any of this.