This road…
243/300. leads to your spark, maybe.
A whisper here, a whisper there.
Something dull and a little spark and the questions come.
Why do we do so much?
What are we trying to prove?
Is all of this worth it?
Will you ever find the spark you lost?
Will everything rhyme well, the way my mother insists shombo does to tomatoes?
It’s the constant fights.
The tug on your will to live.
The bleeding of your orifices.
And the moans of pain that escape your mouth.
Why do I have to fight?
Why do we?
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I’d appreciate a response, actually.
Why does everything come crashing down at some point and now you’re wondering if you want to continue or not?
Have your life flashed before your eyes before?
Have you ever wondered what gives meaning and how it finds life where it does?
To see the world from the lenses you do, have you thought about if you could give up your lenses for sale?
Because it could be important, you know.
A dice here, a roll there and your brain is spinning.
Dizzy dizzy goes the world. Round the moon and round the sun.
And even that is sometimes not enough.
I’m jealous of the birds.
And the trees and the grasses and the walls and the wall algae.
Add the puddles.
And the rain.
And the sun after the rain.
Someday, I wanna be like them.
When I grow up.
