Some more empty syllables

There's a point in life when apathy is entrenched so deep that you don't even bother trying to wake up, and then it hits another extreme when trying to sleep itself becomes an exercise in futility. And you're stuck in this in Between state. Trying in vain to calm a restless mind.

We often mistake a desperate cry for help with a vanity-driven call for attention, failing to realize that they're both the same thing. 

We're probably much worse off for not realizing we need help. With that ridiculous sense of conceit we carry. 

But maybe there is a much worse state to be in. Like screaming into the night with your lips sealed and your voice cut off. Because you know that vocalizing your pain  is only going to be met with ugly looks of reproach and questions about your sanity. That they'll only hear how fierce it sounds, how feral and how wild and how utterly inhuman. And they won't even think about the agony that caused it. 

I wonder if that's what happened to you. That one day you just decided to we weren't  worth it. That I didn't deserve an explanation. That if I couldn't recognize the grave injustices for what they were, than making me see sense was a waste of time.

I think about your life, I think about all the years in it. The ones that have passed.  Where did it all go? I think about how so much of it was spent fighting. Trying to escape this once and for all. I think about this cycle that seems to never end. 

I wonder if anyone thinks about it too. I wonder if they care. 

I swear it breaks my heart. But you won't believe me. 

And I swear if I could put it in words how much I want it to change and make you feel less alone, If I could make you see that we're here and we'll stay waiting with the door wide open for you to come back... 

But to you they re just empty syllables.