i’m about done with all this

constant need for knowing

incessant dissection of the absurdity

spinning around and through me

elaborated constructs of meaning

in what could very well be meaningless

willful ignorance has its temptations

comforting, the ease of no longer caring

or wanting, seeking out the worry

a life fraught with perpetual motion

the sickness growing from the inside

overwhelming the senses in a complete

eventual system shut down, but the

coffee is still hot, and the sun

continues to shine somewhere, beyond

they tell me, so why my unrelenting

need to convince myself otherwise