How long could a lifetime be?

A Poem by Tony Readdy

A narrative poem about the plight of existence

"I'f you're not happy, then what will make you happy?"
I was asked this question, and I don't know
Money.
Drugs.
Love; if that's even a thing.
Trues romantic love that is.

The type of love hollywood and your grandparent have pressed you to believe in.

I know love in a sense. I've felt obsession. I've felt meaning. I've been to the point where I'd have given my life in the name of "love".

Honestly I think that came more from the self-loathing and lack of purpose in my own life.

That has always been an obsession of mine. To give my life for someone else. It seems noble.

For example, if I saw a kid about to be hit by a car I could just jump out to push him away and take the hit myself.

It would be killing two birds with one stone.

I could die.
Effectively ending this meaninglessness that has been consuming me for at least the past ten years.
They could live.
Their families would only know of a hero stranger that saved their child's life and nothing of the actual human being that I am.

Oh, and wouldn't my friends and family be proud.

It's not that I'm bad. I'm not a criminal. I pay my taxes. But I'm not all that good either.
I don't really contribute to society in any way past the fore-mentioned taxes.
I mainly just watch TV and play video games. Which is fine, but fairly unfulfilling.

Now I know what you're thinking,
"Then why not do something? Get a hobby, go to school, do SOMETHING."
The problem is I hate most things.

Honestly I'm probably just lazy.

What a bullshit dilemma.
I'm too lazy to do anything, and because of that I'm miserable.

What bullshit, but yet here we are.

Although I'm not afraid of death, I would never kill myself despite My Girl Sue constantly whispering in my ear.

No, there will be no suicide for me.

After the range of things I've done in my life, not killing myself is one of the last shreds of dignity I have left.
Not to mention I wouldn't want to put that on my family.
Yes, it's true they would move on to some extent,
but I've met enough people with dead family members to know how bad that can f**k a person up.

In the end I guess I'm stuck.

Caught somewhere between an existential crisis and pure apathy.

I guess that's OK.
It's unfortunate,
but how long can a lifetime be?