Friday, May 15, 2020

fucked

Shit is fucked.. There does not need to be poetic language to draw a clearer picture. Shit is fucked and crumbling. Now, what does one do in the midst of that which is crumbling? Some, we move to control the micro and almost keep at the bay the larger nightmare that threatens to make it all seem so futile? I exist in the midst of futility. Constantly, questioning the meaning behind the meaningless activities that fuel our days. It hard to feel that this whole thing is not simply one big lie.

No comments:

Post a Comment