Why have I become so obsessed with meaning? Am I creative? Am I smart? Am I depressed? Or am I just sad?
Some would call this a rut, albeit, it’s too vague and lazy to depict what state I’m in. I’m in ignorance, anger, muffled thoughts and lost in a stupid word called purpose. If I have it and I don’t find it amusing nor “what I want”, then it’s pointless.
I’m sick of it all, everything.
