Why do we do this?
Why must we press on?
Day after day
Month after month
Year after year
The same schedule
Grinding the gears with its dull tone
Noxious fumes arise to fill the brain
The obvious weeks of future
Same settings
Same plots
Same stress
The reason I don't question others
When they ask their bodies if they're real
When they question a knife
When they question the depths
I don't ask
I won't ask
I wonder if reality is reality
Is this reality the same as others?
If real isn't real why should it be?
Why should it not be?
Why do I question?
Why must I ask?
I don't ask
I won't ask
Because if this reality is all for not
Then what is it?