Listlessly Looking For Nothing In Particular

nothing to look for
nowhere to look
curiosity can’t kill the indifferent

searching is pointless
a void can’t be found
the absence of something is just that

welcome back
listlessly looking for nothing in particular

leaving most stones unturned
effortlessly foraging
unsure of my expectations
and so much more

there’s a plethora of things
never meant to be found
a lot of the time
it’s just better not to know

there are things that can’t be unlearned
but no ones knows until it’s too late

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End Transmission

Put in too much effort
to just give up,
but lord knows I still will.
“Born a quitter, died a quitter”
will be written on the stone above my grave,
Maybe things would be different
if I could control what I crave.
I’ve never been able to listen
every line sounds the same
carved out a role for myself in the snake pit
by now I barely notice their fangs
no more opening my mouth – end transmission –
I finally know when to quit the game.

Boxed In

Time reclaims its grip tightly again
Follow the path for long enough,
tracing all its bends,
then deal with the relapse when it comes.
All the answers are locked behind the same wall,
all hidden in the same box
Can’t help but wonder who has the key
There’s got to be a way to manipulate these things.
Pulling the curtain might be the last thing I want to do
(leave it all out in the open)
The freshest air always gets tainted
The best of all timing always gets wasted
This feels like an experiment gone wrong
Sometimes things just go awry,
not every single bird knows how to fly.
‘Get me the hell out of here,’ I’m always thinking
Then what am I doing always coming back
I’m trying to get the hell out
bags are already packed
There’s a box waiting for me and you and you
and all of us
I had no premonition to prevent this
but even if I had,
I never would’ve learned then
Unlocked the box with all the answers
I should’ve burned instead.