I looked for sense in books
In street corners and nooks
I checked with the crooks
All I got were dirty looks
Some days, it simply isn't done
What is the purpose of being a human?
Would I be happy if I were a tree
Would being rooted set me free?
We are trapped in cyclical fits
Repetitive pain of being alive
But we grow so used to the bullshit
If not fed that we'd not survive
There is only a question, forever
The answer for it is never never
It is only a smirking, smug grin
On the face of the big joker, God.
Hello dear readers, how have you all been?