Everything.
Everything it seems is a clear choice I make
I don’t want to care about choice
I choose nothing I choose nothing still and unmoving
I choose nothing mute and hurt
I care nothing for logical flow of thought
However pre programmed you insist it is
I care nothing for burnt yellow roses and pretty faces
Nothing for a time of no beauty or instinct
Nothing for a life which is someone else’s choice
Nevermind the wasted smiles ringing
I care nothing for either silence or anger
Nothing for the craving of chocolate topped with cream
Nothing for the phlegm in my mouth
Nothing for the cough of hollows in my throat
I care nothing for fingers sliced from the nails
Nothing for fruit flies and pigeon troubles
Nothing for carefully arranged bottles and potions
Nothing for my ever absent guests or imaginary ones
Nothing for the bitter cold around styrofoam cups
Nothing for political conversations at lunch
Nothing for intelligent conversations at lunch
Nothing for polite conversations at lunch
Explain to me
What is the metaphysics of irrationality?
I will rest for one whole day
Now of all things you’ll tell me Everything.
Everything is a clear choice I make