Dead Stop

I sit here staring at the wall. It’s never going to show me anything more than a plain white panel and a rebound for my memories. I sit still as my chest slowly rises and falls as I take in oxygen. I lack the motivation to go further than this not for any legitimate reason, merely because I have reached a total standstill. Fallen into a massive rut. Why does the motivation fall short, when I’ve been told my whole life I could do anything I wanted, if I put my mind to it and worked hard enough. I think this is where my problem starts, because most people’s idea of achievement is based around financial, charitable or artistic success.
I have no desire for any of these. Money will go as far as what I’m holding, and what I put aside. I have no survival expenses. I have the desire to help people, but right now it is only those who surround me, and only with small, insignificant problems, however life threatening they might seem to us. I believe that I have to help myself before I can go out and help the wider world, or at least that's what I am trying to convince myself of. The prevention is better than the cure. Humans are corrupt and poverty is unstoppable. So how can every bit count? How jaded and callous am I? I would rather help people come to terms with the nature of mankind so that we might other ways to work within our natural limitations. Artistic success cannot be judged until after you are dead. So I guess my ghost will have to see to that. So why don’t I just go out and have fun, and live the teenage capitalist dream with the rest of the western and closer to destruction world. Is it because I fear the inevitable? People are terrifying, prepared to do anything to impress or improve their status. We cannot say what we feel incase we break the code of social acceptability. We do things en masse because we watch other people doing them; we fall like dominoes every time. This isn’t any new discovery, and almost anyone who decides to chew the fat about the ill fated ways of the world will tell you that. Although this doesn’t make my claim or own version any less legitimate. So I sit in limbo and the frustration builds, the pressure increasing towards the inevitable break. Or fade until I become indifferent. So I chase my dreams of personal gain, and amount piles of colored wax, paper, plastic and metal. All to rot in the earth when I expire. Technology to make me feel less certain of my own existence and more certain that I am not alone in this feeling. When in reality I can only exist if I exist alone. I hold back my true feelings because they can only render useful, nobody can change this, or even if they could sympathize it will be nothing more than speculation. So we can join forces in
Our hopelessness, and unite in one big waste of time that never belonged to us. Time that keeps on adding up, when really the hourglass is slowly running out, a count down to Armageddon that nobody is aware of. So why all this despair? Obviously I am delusional, and I am just trying to find some greater, profound reason to fill the void. In reality life is only as important as you want it to be, I mean, it's only your life at stake. Nothing more than a pimple on the face of a kid in his school photo on the fall of his grandmother's place lost in the middle of suburbia. So really, what’s the point of caring so much, why don't I just do what I want and forget about what might happen, because there’s no time like the present? Why fear failure, when even the slimmest chance of success exists. This reasoning seems so logical, except I feel no
More motivated to get up knowing it. Maybe if the wolves were after me I would be motivated to achieve. Or I would just accept my fate. It's hard to know.