Fullfill

Apathy lends itself to an easy life.
your caviar cravings lie level with waste.
your mind separates from this strange place.
there is nothing left to mourn.
no reason to be stressed
or angry.
no reason to feel anything at all.
You sleep solid through the night,
every night.
The endless cycles of
give and take,
ebb and flow,
win and lose,
gone.
The world divines itself
for you and you
alone.
The gods marvel at
their inability
to hurt

you,

Antaeus of Earth.

Me,
I hurt every day.
I care even for my
careless facade.
I've yearned for him to be true,
at times,
and I will again.
We've all romanticized
such a life.
We've all wished we wouldn't
wonder
how old lovers carry on
without us;
where dead friends have gone to live;
why air escapes our panicked lungs;
what we could do to feel important
just one more time.

How easy it must be
to not care.
How difficult it is
not to care.
How unfulfilling
anything easy is.
How difficult it is
to feel fulfilled.