Poem : Why I am still here

Why the fuck am I still here?

why the fuck am i still here?

why the fuck am i still here?

Im not sure.

Its not realising the problem of existence as an origin, thats fucking easy, science has answered that particular conundrum. but why the fuck am I still here?

Im drinking myself into a desperate sense of creativity, my own little escape. 

A world inside a world, a fourth dimensional consciousness, 

and I'm gazing wontedly at the sour cream and onion pringles that reciprocate in a gesture of condescension and piousness. 

I want to pop the bastards in a hope that a high uptake of dopamine will caress the backs of my retinas and dribble on my optical nerves. Please stimulate me, that's all I ask. And then what? then.......what?

Why the fuck am i still here? 

why the fuck am i still herE?

I imagine its because i haven't had a book published,

an essay revered or discussed on any sort of magnitude,

a poem read at a lecture,

or a piece of art gazed upon in inspiration or condemnation

I am here because i am selfish

and i want to live for as long as possible

for an otherwise insignificant reward.

Why the fuck am i still here?

i don't want to be forgotten

but inevitably

I will.