The Point

As I ponder on I see no resolve — 
No rhyme, no reason to endure,
With every triumph, I feel no victory,
Still, I step, blindly gimping towards the misleading feeble light in the distance, and I know not why.

What’s the point of unearthing perspective
If it’s to grasp the insulting truth,
The truth that knowledge is but a curse?

What’s the point of fixing my bed,
If it’s merely a reminder that my restless nights are but hours of carnage I withstand just to inevitably force myself to endure tomorrow?

What’s the point of joy,
If it’s merely a reminder of how much you hate your smile?

What’s the point of reaching out and having those you love taste the truth,
If it doesn’t solve anything,
If it only brings them pain,
The pain that shapes the pity you never wanted,
The pity that turns to guilt,
The guilt you desperately yearn to shed?

What’s the point of writing this down,
If nobody listens, even when you tell them,
Straight to their face…

What’s the point?

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The Point was originally published in CRY Magazine on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.