The setting sun has accomplished what it can,
Content with its life's timeline behind it.
No more to strive for.
No fights to pick.
Nothing to work towards.
Retiring a life well lived.

My closest friends are only acquaintances,
As I am the only person I know.
Letting dust collect on obligations,
I promise to demand nothing of you.
I'm content with knowing no one.

Art has painted me my meaning; my best friend.
Puts me to sleep at night and kisses away my fears,
Provides my frustrated soul something constructive to do with my tears.
It gives my life a purpose to be.

Society never wanted to hear what I had to say,
Never wanted to comfort me from my fears.
Offered nothing but feverishly false images
Washed out worthless worries
Twisted sickly stupid standards
That all meant nothing to me.
Then threw me a frustrated rant,
When I claimed my mouth was too small
To swallow its lies.

Developing a world of pursuing intellectual curiosities,
Having a purpose to back up your meaning.
I don't believe in anything, but I believe in me.
It means everything to me.

Let me get lost and hope I never find my way back.
I'd never be happier.
I've found my self and all concepts that fuel my being.
I hope to never find anything else.
Or to be found.

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