Busy. Doing nothing.

I feel tired and restless.
I'm growing old and bored.
Are we aging? Are we maturing?
Are we doing both? Are we doing neither?

What the fuck do we know?
What the fuck do we know?

My chest is on the brink of explosion.
Filled with words and emotions that can't reach the surface.
My hands shake too much.
All they seem to write is repetitious.

What the fuck do we know?