Modern Voids

Complacency
Has taken hold of me,
That ever-growing word that sings you away
From the terrors that plagued you in your teens,
And robbed you of your sleep,
All those sleepless nights you were terrified of your own mind.
Those all have died.

And now you're left with complacency.
Congratulations, these senses have all been rubbed off,
Those stubs from your soul struggle to wriggle.
You don't love, you don't lust,
You can't even be bothered to feel sad.
You're the fattest starving artist.

Complacent and surviving,
Calm and thriving,
But where do your passions lie this late at night?

Your shadows cast away and denounce you,
You're alone and weak and boring,
But that's alright, at least you're not
Foaming at the mouth, romanticizing suicide.

Complacency.

How do we get our passions back
When the fruits have no flavour?
How do we sharpen ourselves to perform at our best,
When you've chosen to grind away all the edges that pained you?