nothing but anything

Has anyone ever written anything for you
In all your darkest hours?
Have you ever heard me sing?
Listen to me now
Has anyone ever given anything to you
In your darkest hours?
Did you ever give it back?
Well, I have
I have given that to you
If it's all I ever do
This is your song

I'm struggling at the confusing war inside my mind. As watching the giant blades colliding each other with the loud sound and glittery sparks, I cannot even distinguish the victor of the war. Then I sense the pure, violet blood while it runs through my veins. Neither red, nor blue. It runs too fast or slow. Both is fatal, both is outlander. 
You ever felt as an outlander to your own self?
Palahniuk stated it right, we indeed are the middle children of the history which have no purpose to focus to or a place to belong to or a war to be sorry about. Our depression is our own lives, yes. Yet, we should have been healing too right? If not to each other, at least to ourselves? 
You ever felt like you ruin every damn good person that eagerly intervene in your life? Or bored of trying to change yourself or the circumstances?
If you could change only one simple day in your entire life, what would it be, you ever thought?
Have you ever heard me sing? Would you ever deign to listen?
This could have been your song.