the broken pencil

but when there is no more funny shit,
no more laughter,
no more silly,
too much serious,
too much conflict,
too much hate,
not enough love,
not enough compassion,
not enough sharing,
of too much food,
of too much shelter,
of too much stuff,
you find yourself
in the dark
alone,
silently screaming the question:
what is the fucking point?

no surprise
that there is no answer,
because there is no point.