the poem of the recluse

when you do not know anymore
what to do with your time here
it feels like the intstructions
just weren't that clear

why wasn't I given instructions
on how to deal with this mess
I have the 'honour' of calling my life
as I start to care less and less

what's the point of going on with
this life without any reason to
wake up each morning, and think
'yeah! that's what I am going to do!'

there were times where I almost
knew what I was worth to my muse
but now again, I'm sitting here
like the person I always was
A recluse.