I don’t have anything to write about.
I have everything to write about.
I have nothing to think.
I think all the time.
I don’t have so much as a dime.
I am rich.
I’ve never got the time.
Cause time doesn’t actually exist.
Nothing actually matters.
Everything is supposed to matter.
All amongst the chatter,
You listen to problems that were once yours, you comb through their conversations as the uninvited third party and shake your head because they have not yet realized,
Nothing actually matters. No one actually cares. You do it for you and you always. Everything is supposed to matter, yet, nothing actually matters.
I have nothing to write about.
I write about everything.
But none of it matters.