The Question With No Answer

Why am I here?

The question we all ask at some point.

We ask it so often and we

never really expect an answer.

But sometimes we get one

anyway.

Why am I here?

Sometimes, it's to love.

Sometimes, it's to laugh.

Sometimes,

there really isn't

any point at all.

Why am I here,

playing this game called life when there

is no victor?

There are two players, life and death,

and death

always wins

and life

always finds a way to come back.

So no one ever really wins

in the impossible game.

Why am I here?

My friends are the

only reason I stick around anymore but

they don't need me.

They need to believe that they are good so they pretend to be a friend

but there is only pity in their friendship,

pity and a desire to be needed.

I am here.

It doesn't matter why, but

I am here.

Whatever the reason, wherever the place,

I am here.

I'll always be here,

even when I'm just bones and dust and dirt and a wooden box of ash,

I'll always be here.

A rock weighing a trillion pounds

I'm too weak to move it.

The strongest man or woman would

have a problem moving it.

Even with machines there's

trouble moving it.

It holds me here, alone.

It holds me here, alone.