Uselessness is a cold sweat
While swinging fists at an emptiness.
It's made up but it's earnest
As earthquakes travel to our wrists
And hands. It's completely pointless,
Like shouting insight at the television.
Yet there is something to be said
About the disconnected shadows on the wall.

And just like that the panic's up and gone away,
Leaving the mystery at fucked up biology.
When there's nothing to the weight on the other side,
We're left to scramble for the fulcrum throughout the night.

Relief is a day break,
Bringing the end to invention and outrage
At unfounded stirrings.
It's not much but I'll settle for the fatigue.
I wish there were reasons,
Deep roots to grasp, to disarm,
But it seems they come and go
As easily as the air we need to breathe.

My eyes are peeled wide open.
They spin around the room like manufactured truths.
My head, it rolls with apprehension.
It's ridiculous but I guess I'll write it off as waning youth

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