For No One

A blank sheet will forever remain blank if the one intending to breathe life into it is as empty on the inside. Nothingness produces nothingness, I suppose. Whether this silence is my ascension to enlightenment or the death of my resolve, I cannot say.

Tell me the difference between a saint and a sleepless infidel, starving itself in the middle of its stripped mattress, unmoving. Abstinence is the morally righteous practice of giving up on life. Perhaps this is the motivation behind the itch to shave my head.

To write to nobody, and for nobody, is a task I find impossible. Self satisfaction and fulfillment cannot possibly be attained by one whose natural temperament and condition for growth is through feeding off the attention of others. Even if this is not the case, we can all agree that the vital component to nurturing a human being is another human being. I shake my head when I hear motivational speeches.

For no one I write, for no one is there at the end of the road.