Writer's nihilism

(low start) Ohhh ohh ohh... and tell me lo lo love How can I be a thread if the hand never wove? If there really is something that connects us, why aren't they a clove? Ohhh... ohh... ohh... I guess that's the bad thing about being the writer. It's karma to pay for being both a lighter and an igniter. I learn to create and destroy worlds all-nighter. And yet I sleep so comfortably. Am I a blighter? And I can't get it out of my head that you're brighter.... than the shadow is biter righter... I want to be righter... righter than death. Ohhh... ohh... ohh... But see me here, in complete cynicism. And in my bad syllogism, that maybe it's a good criticism, I see how pessimism, It has the same zero value as optimism. And that everything converges in a meaningless thing to call realism. But I don't feel that mine is pragmatism. I fear I have fallen into nihilism... Ohhh... ohh... ohh... In the void into which I fall I will continue writing about you, sharing the same fate as the rest of my works, hundreds of forgotten ones who I fear are better off this way. I can't feel bad for having linked you to this, maybe that's why tears flow from me. Ohhh ohh ohh... and tell me lo lo love How can I be a thread if the hand never wove? If there really is something that connects us, why aren't they a clove? Ohhh... ohh... ohh... In the void into which I fall I will continue writing about you, sharing the same fate as the rest of my works, hundreds of forgotten ones who I fear are better off this way. I can't feel bad for having linked you to this, maybe that's why tears flow from me.