The Face of Apathy

(His Version of The Face of Depression) A smile, what is that? I haven’t seen one in so long, at least not when I look in the mirror that man’s expression is set in stone Eyes, are they supposed to sparkle and shine? Because all I can see is death and despair when I look into mine Personality what is that? Definitely not something I own; I have nothing to offer to anyone that’s why I am better off alone Hands that aren’t cold to the touch, does such a thing exist? A heart that isn’t dark and dead inside, I’ve never heard of this A broken heart that bleeds but is sheltered behind a wall, I would know nothing of such you first must have one at all Dressing to appease someone else’s eye, or to make yourself feel something? Yeah, I’m not that guy Putting one foot in front of the other, what does that even mean? I don’t walk, I stomp wherever I go if you know what I mean Living in the darkness because you know nothing of light, never giving anything to anyone because by doing so would be right Coming home and not having to remove a mask that you wore throughout the day, because your face says it all I have no emotions to convey Breathing in and out and screaming just to hear any other sound, but the silence that you live in, and then feeling even more without than you already were to begin Lying on my bed but no daydreaming for me, my past is my past, my future doesn’t yet exist, and my present only revolves around me Playing conversations of yesterday on repeat in my head, just so that I can revel in the pain that I once caused wishing for it to now puncture me instead Envisioning that I am the one being caused pain, that I’m the one being made to cry, it’s almost funny to imagine that because I am dead inside Missing you so much that it hurts? If only I knew how, I have no remorse for anyone or anything, don’t even bother asking me how Feeling guilty? What is that? Feeling ashamed? Oh, those are what people call emotions, I didn’t know they had a name Looking at my reflection and seeing nothing staring back at me, only the look of a broken, dead man who calls himself apathy.