since no one reads what I write, I might as well stop caring and just write for myself

I don’t know what to write, so I’ll write a poem. Don’t know which tone to use, so I’ll try to be solemn.

The world is ending, but it’s a bit hard to explain. But my soul still wants to live, which is hard to contain.

Every job lacks meaning, doesn’t feel like living a life. At least writing is still fun, to be better at it I’ll strive.

I don’t have much to say, my opinions are not worth sharing. In some sense that’s a lie, But today I don’t feel like caring.

I feel more special than anyone, in the same way I believe everyone is. My ego and my soul are diverging masters, I don’t know which one to please.