Nameless

All these words seem to be meaningless.
Who cares if I write these things?
Will I get relieved?
Will I get better?
They all seem to slip away.
As if I'm staring on the wall and whisper words.
As if I'm carving my name on my face but no one sees.
Will all my vengeance be answered?
It's pointless, directionless, and nonsense.
Will the person I'm writing about
Knows I'm writing for her?
Will she ever read what my heart writes?
Will I get any credit for writing these s**t?
A shadow,
A silhouette,
The dark side of the moon.
A candy wrapper,
A burned cigarette,
A water heading to an endless river,
An old teddy bear.
A banana peel,
A dream inside a dream
A leaf falling to eternal depthness,
A song that no one sings,
The unopened letter.
If this is a cancer,
Then I should have been diagnosed
As a psychopath,
A dumb,
A paranoid,
A fool,
A nobody.
However, in the first place,
This is the place I chose to lay my waste.
But, what's the point anyway?
Did I found the sunshine after the dark?
Did I found the colors of my nightmare?
I could write a million of this,
But they were all the same,
A de javu in a time loop.
Did I satisfied my hunger for truth, vengeance, and love?
This foolishness,
A parasite inside me that I can't kill.
It's such a waste of time!
Will you understand?
Will they understand?
I guess no!
No one will give a f**k!
And so I made this deal to myself,
By the time I finished writing my 100th poem,
No voice will be heared,
Nor blood stains after.
Just a ship wrecked inside a bottle of milk.
I may still be young enough
To end this so called kind of art,
But my soul have burned
And have had enough for illusions and fallacy.
So be it if I ever finally laid my last card.

Author's Note

Please review and rate my poem. Thank you :)