Pointless, it's all pointless

Like speaking into a void
constantly chasing down
a combination of words
to inspire a sensation or feeling
that either makes me feel
better than you
or better than me

pointless

it's a hollow echo,
a false hope we chase.
These moments—
limericks, zen quotes,
and Confucius stories—
we share them as if they were our own discovery,
an idea we have conceived, something profound.
We feed them to each other
in hopes that our newfound uniqueness
will prove we exist.

Pointless

I'm so busy chasing
my own spiritual awakening
to acknowledge yours—
unheard whispers and hollow echoes,
circles and cycles.

Pointless

The world is empty,
like screaming in a dream—
silent, and alone.
Being awake is no different;
my screams fall on deaf ears,
and so do yours.
We started life with a whisper from an angel,
but the end is
a callous touch from death—
cold and careless.
All that chasing,
all the searching—

pointless.

Nothing to show for it
but a few decorations left behind,
to be thrown out along with any memory
of our existence.