And the Punch Line to the Joke is Screaming Someone Save Us

If God doesn’t exist, what does? Is existence watered-down to a styling and profiling of selfish spending and exchanging the exorbitant exchanges of intimacies and sweet nothing dramatics? The lingering notion of placing my riches in heaven still hunts me, every other prospective portfolio seems more than a little haphazard. Metal rusts, moths can get to cloth, additionally stone becomes weathered. Where, I ask, do you place your riches if heaven no longer exists? What forever is there in a world of permanent decay? Maybe the young prince had it right, but then what right choice is there when the end result is the exact same.
I am amused by women, pursuing, maintaining, attending to; what’s the point? She will rust and tares just like any other thing. We, our riches, the beautiful things we cover ourselves in, are all festering nothings. Some of us can think, act, and breath, but its only a matter of time before we don’t. We are desk, We are chair, We are rabbit, We are stone, We are the mud and dirt that originally formed us (by accident or design).

P.s: there are hazards of leaving half empty glasses around your working space… one being that you may swallow a mouth full of something you forgot about a month ago that may or may not be make you sick.