what is the point? of all of this.

waking up,
going through the motions,
winding down,
sleeping,
drifting.

doom tends to visit me often, we meet in the pit of my stomach. it starts as a whisper but quickly ends in screaming.

“what are you doing?”

“where are you going?”

“what are you doing next?”

i wish we didn’t meet so often, i wish we didn’t meet at all. i look around and wonder if everyone else’s pit is as deep and as loud as mine.

do you cover your ears at night? do you hold onto your stomach and wish for the pain to go away?

it is unrelenting and all-consuming, it leaves no victims, spares no one. somewhat humane.

yet once it passes, i have to learn how to pick up the pieces, glue them back together and pretend that nothing happened. i go back to the same routine and experience it all over again.

someone call doom and tell them to leave me alone. find someone else to bother.

will i ever find it, the point?

i hope i find it someday, soon.