Time ticks away every moment, the fluid motion of hands turn the pages quickly day by day, way too swiftly, the storms all pass. The rain washes away the pain of the disturbing rust filled day. Awake, barely awake, senses touch, feel, and make some curious thoughts, wonders. The passing of light creates whiplash across the skin. Burning, never still, against weak wills of consciousness. Reaching, yearning for a hunger that cannot be filled. Beaches, mountains, valleys, highs and lows, no, nowhere can fill the void. Madness, vines of ever reaching obscurity keep the ground all too near. Here, there, glass surrounds, shattering at the slightest bit of resistance. The machines work flawlessly to produce each and every last breath, until all is spent in a blunder of malcontent. We’ve all gone mad, so crazed with wonder that numbness is all that exists. Resistance, resist, worn down by the consistence of the system. Far too complex, far too submissive, this could only be, not but an accident, but a purposeful disposition of a far too ineffable being. To live, we call it, should be humorous, a good laugh, mindless, in essence. Tell me why we try; it’s in the design, embedded deep within. Some sick game of a narcissist, some race that we cannot complete, due to lack of whereabouts, purpose. You should laugh due to the fact that you will go back to work eventually, inevitably. Work.  Pointless and wasteful, trying to find a temporary need to exist. Society, all gone excessively insane, not a single logical reason for doing anything. To do, without the conclusion of completeness, and the answer to the question, why?  I just don’t know.