Empty is passing

[burnmewithakiss]

I'm a hard working man
Come close to me
And stop before you touch
I'm much to low to get attached

'Cause I'm only good for one thing
I'm only good for one thing
Yeah I'm only good for one thing

I can't get too close
'cause it hurts too much
To do
The devil's work.

You're a hint of this
You're a touch out of place
You're a cannonball
On an iced-over lake.

And I'll speak through you,
Like I speak to a ghost,
Like I'm touching you're hair,
Then I'll wake up alone.

'Cause I'm only good for one thing
I'm only good for one thing
Yeah I'm only good for one thing

--

Is it true that as you get older you lose your creativity? I feel entirely devoid of creativity at most times.
Not that I don't want to put in the effort, but that at my deepest self - I am sincerely and unequivocably bland.
I hardly feel anymore, and when I do I get thrown into a tumultuous melee of distress and unhappiness.
I wonder if that's how I am, and that's when I dream the most to detach and wander, to have things that will ultimately destroy me.
This ache that liquifies my stoic solidarity, that makes my words drip into emptyness and upheaves my understanding of what IS, and what ISN'T.
Will you hand me that tourniquette?
Will you be brave and unconscious?
Just do what I tell you, don't you trust me?
Won't you let me destroy myself?

I've never been more unsure about anything than I am at this point in my life.
I want to go work in a camp and have a family comprised of slaves.
It's all what you make it in life, and frankly, I'm not making much of it.
But I'm too unsure about which step, to take it.