Aug 03, 2005 00:48
All is lost.
This is the end of time.
There will be nothing after this,
And everything before will be washed away.
All is lost.
What point is there to our existence
If it doesn’t change our fate?
Our pretty little lives halt not the runaway train.
This is the end of time,
A sinkhole from with nothing will come.
There are no saviors, no heroes, no villains,
Just us, all of us, on the brink of oblivion.
There will be nothing after this.
What we do makes no difference.
We are relieved of consequence,
Yet I see that no one rejoices for the eased burden.
And everything before will be washed away,
As if the future we lack holds for our ancestors.
Their deeds, their stories, their dreams will not survive the line,
For they never lived at all.
When you have to chauffeur for your own mother, you kind of have a problem.
Get up, start the car. Oops, not starting. Must be the battery. Wait, neighbor says it's the starter. Wait, AAA can't get here unless Dad's here to sign off on the tow truck. Wait, AAA is having problems and can't get here for two hours. Tow the car. It's the battery. It's getting fixed. Mom has an appointment. Drive your dear old mother to the shop so she can cut someone's hair. Go back home.
Senior pics tomorrow. Lovely.
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