adapt.

I've become quite used to fruitless writings, to pointless hate, to unanswered questions, and certainly, to getting no reactions. nothing. how does one get used to nothing? by force? it truly is rather amazing how adaptable we "humans" are. living in the most intolerable conditions, will become as comfortable as home. after all, home is where the heart is. 

i know now that i can believe in anything, yet fall for nothing.  yes, i've become quite used to fruitless searching and i've given up my right of passage. for i am the bad apple in the cart. dragging along these miles of ball n' chains, wherever i don't go. i write it across my forehead, for whomever i don't know. where does it end from here, and furthermore, how did i get here? certainly, it wasn't me who did it, for i swear i just went along with it. 

fucking fruitless dreams, that melt in silent anger, dripping through the cracks and seeping into the seams. what do people know about life? what do you know about passion? when you have everything, but a reason. excuses flow like fair weather friendships and bullshit is the native language here. 

i've become quite used to fruitless moments, for i'm adapted.