Hit the Key; the most sour note

My head is spinning. The way has become muddied.
I don't know where I'm going or what to do.

It was said, and so I've mechanically repeated, that life is just a series of ever-more subtle and difficult challenges, arrayed to bring us to our breaking point. To date, I've strode over most of them as if they were nothing. They were nothing. Because I could always pay the simplest, direct toll. Myself.

I'm now in a situation where it's not feasible for me to take charge and fix what was broken. It's a helpless feeling. I hate it. This was the one challenge that I forever failed. And yet here it is again. What does the world do when the superhero is left holding his breath, looking at what he's done, and left wondering, was this wrong?

Midnight reveries stack up like bodies in a morgue, and yet all are destined for nothing. All the words and thoughts and missives are all sent to the midden, for though they are eloquent and well-crafted, they say nothing, or so little as to be one and the same.

I can write ad nauseum about the ills in the world. About how people are fucked, and how we're all so apathetic. But now, I just wonder if I've crossed that line. I'm listening for the keening of my conscience, and I'm strangely hearing nothing. So was I wrong, or do I just not care anymore?

Or perhaps it's just this weight is not mine to carry, and I should just close my eyes and hope for the best.

Or perhaps, at daybreak, this entry itself will find the delete key beckoning. We won't know.