Nothing Fucking Matters

I don’t have anything to write about.

I have everything to write about.

I have nothing to think.

I think all the time.

I don’t have so much as a dime.

I am rich.

I’ve never got the time.

Cause time doesn’t actually exist.

Nothing actually matters.

Everything is supposed to matter.

All amongst the chatter,

You listen to problems that were once yours, you comb through their conversations as the uninvited third party and shake your head because they have not yet realized,

Nothing actually matters. No one actually cares. You do it for you and you always. Everything is supposed to matter, yet, nothing actually matters.

I have nothing to write about.

I write about everything.

But none of it matters.

Daily Prompt: Fact

Fact: The one who was the muse to my moves,

you still move me.

Fact is, I move differently when you’re not around.

You’ve not been around. Nor have I.

Fact was, I said goodbye,

but not to you my muse.

That’s something I’ve still got to abuse.

Fact is, fiction is real. And your facts are false.

I’ve gone through the movements of muse,

and all while stating the facts of the importance of muse juice,

I do not need it. I’ve got coffee and weed to succeed.



Daily Prompt: Fact