A tribute to the menial

There are some nights
When sleep is a closing darkness
Of inefficiency and wasted time.
Nights when I have to ask myself
Why the hell am I here?
Of course, the answer is chance,
But I guess I should make the most
Of pleasure receptors
And my current lack of evolutionary pressure.
So what the hell do I do with my 29000 days?
(On average, of course, with an error margin of 100% or so).
Which direction is the ‘right’ one, and what makes it right?
Right for me? For humanity? For nothing at all?
It seems that satisfaction is all we have to live for;
Is that living? Or existing? What’s the difference?
And who cares about the difference
When they could be eating a cheeseburger.


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