That1Cellist

Nothing I feel is real. Nothing I want is achievable Do I even want what I think I want? Why do I try for attention so much? Why does it matter to me? Why do I insist on being mean to myself? The behavioral patterns don't lie. It's not real. None of this is real. I'm not real.

For something more substantial to quantify my thoughts, albeit different ones, I wrote another thing.

Falling, falling
Quiet like snowflakes we drop
Empty corpses
They had the whole sky for them
The wind to play in
And yet we fall
Why do we fall with the rest?
What's the point?
But even so
There really is no choice anyway
The earth yearns, gravity beckons
So we fall
Dying
Moving, swirling, living
Unaware of the looming ground

My soul ached
And was met with silence

Hmmmm, in retrospection, this one isn't very good, but it is what it is.

I'm tired and confused, humans.