For Nothing

Oh but every once in a while this little notion comes creeping. If I've learned nothing else in the last ten years of myself, it's that I adore the feeling of giving up. It's so good, safe, satisfying, it's so beautiful, right. What could be more fitting then defeat of my choice, my decision. I see myself literally slipping back, calm, calculated, an expiration date come due. I open my eyes and I am surrounded by silent woods, not one single sound, there is not an obligation on my horizon, nor concern. All of my inconveniences are aliviated, all my struggles barely sturr me. All persons, conflicts, grossness, uncomforibilty, evaporated seeming, so far off. I am uncommunicative, unreachable and owing explainations to no one. Forfeit. There are no alarm clocks here, I do not feel panic stricken about money, I never could, for it holds so little weight here. No bills, timelines, calendars, tiredness. There is only the sweet surrender of fucking giving up. The white sun shines through the pines and heats my skin, and heart. It's so soothing, and nothing aside from this is real in the slightest, I sit there alone, only pondering why it was I would labor so much.