Destination

Ambling to the very same place I sleep
it's not as fun anymore.
Too exhausted to maintain a life so deep
never been this shallow before.


Filling up on things of the earth,
filling up leaves me empty.
In lives so short things have no worth,
filling up on them corrupts me.


Maybe the answer is people,
the answer to this simple question.
Needing others when I'm feeble,
people, a popular suggestion.

But all people seem to be like me,
we're all stupidly self glorifying.
The way your actions reach out and strike me,
I'm finding my vulnerability horrifying.

The way you say "hello" to me,
but telling me to shutup
like you're eating me
after throwing me up.

Now learning of our twisted desires,
selfish people can't satisfy me or you.
Of all the people who become inspired
those famous aren't those who do it for you.

Travelling on a journey filled with perks
but gifts aren't at the end.
It's somewhere where me, with all my quirks,
will live in a reality, too good for pretend.