If gene reproduction is the whole point
Why does my soul yearn to proclaim an endless cacophony of wants I can’t discern?
If the only point is to pass life along, why am I consumed with these racing thoughts?
Life is so simple.
Consciousness is so complex.
How can I hold the weight of all the questions my mind wants to ask?
It’s swallowing my time
Second by second,
I float further out into the ocean of my neurotic curiosities.
Until land has disappeared
And what kind of life exists for me if I’m drowning out there?