Binge watching Homeland may lead to questions of similar kind.

It's starting to rain
Inside
And I'm feeling the weight
And I'm eating to go inside
Forever. 
And the missing reports
And files
And people
And children
And all of it, weakens my capacity for love
I don't understand 
How does my phone know everything 
Calculating and un feeling
Music plays in all of our ears, 
But what is the song?
What is the cry?
What is the ringing?
Is it a bell
Or a bomb?

Are we working for the dream that our life means something?

Liken me to the needy man just outside the 7eleven, or the liquor store. The woman just sat down next to me I'd rather not engage with. Id rather not open my skin. Just not anymore. Tonight. 

It hurts to do it, and I do it often. I'll do it I suppose again and again and again and again. Circling like a plow into the space beyond the night star sky. I wonder how the farmer feels, knowing how many mouths he's feeding. I wonder how the man feels who makes the boats that the fishermen float on. Does he think of death approaching himself as he knows the ropes drag the creatures out of their breathing pools ? Does anyone get it? Are there philosophers I should read? Or would I sink even further into the never mind this mess. 

It's a successful day when I can simply wash my own hands without tumbling down the staircase of looking back. 

And I keep reaching. It's a desperate float, don't have to tell me how it looks when I dance. But what I know, is the more I shit off this clicking pencil drawer mind, when we all for those brief moments fall in line with the rhythm of this paradise, it's the most satisfying grip of lost known to our kind. 

Praying you're able to see how touching you brings me hope