Meaningless

Everything is so quiet, so flat, so meaningless. The meaning things once had was a trap, but in its absence there is no meaning at all. Which is better, if this is the choice one has and must make? What if one abstains in this realm where nothing grows? Where there is no texture and no slope, what if one simply did not choose? Could it even be said that one exists at all in that place? Who would say it, and what weight could it possibly carry when all had been becalmed? It is the feeling of drifting down the river and slipping down the drain, only to find the current was an illusion and now you simply are, within a featureless sea stretching in all directions, unable to determine if this was how it has always been or if it will always be exactly the same, exactly like this. Quiet, featureless, flat, meaningless.