My Poems/Ramblings

Addiction

Life...life...now that's a fucking mystery. What is life? Why do we have it? Why should we want it? What do we do with it? Why do we do that with it? I'm sure that nobody really knows the answers to any of those questions. We're all here, just wasting time, waiting to die. I think that's why some people have so many children. Now, they have to live to take care of them. Those questions are at the forefront of my mind, every single day. Why am I here? What is my purpose? I don't know. I think everybody has addictions of their own, to just pass the time and get through one day to the next. I'm jealous of some of these people. Some of these people can do amazing things through their addiction. Some people write amazing stories. Writing is their drug. Others construct the most beautiful things one could ever imagine of beholding. All to just pass the time, and help others pass the time, as well. We're all addicts of our own device. We're all just trying to make it to see another day, for whatever reason. That's fine and all, but the fact that I notice and realize this really depresses me.

My addiction? I think I'm addicted to addictions. I don't have one steady/stable thing. I have multiple things, and I have nothing all at the same time.