What's the point of living
When everything is nothing.
Life is empty.

But then life is everything
Yet at the same time not.
It's all or nothing.

Life is a drug.
It makes you soar
And it makes you fall.

It's an addiction
And it's dangerous.
But it's inescapable.

The insanity drives you
It directs life.
Then life crashes.

Then what's left?
Nothing but the empty
Of the leftover memory.

That once there was something
That struggled to live.
But still, is there anything?

It's a hollow
Inside filled with ache.
It's all but death.

Death. That's what it is.
It's the solution.
It's the ending of nothing.

No. Death is nothing
In its evilest form.
There is nothing at all.

Death has no description
Or purpose for reason.
Death is needless of anything.

So why is death so pleasing
If it's tragedy completely?
Because it is a new life.