who gives a shit
about
whoever gives a fuck,
when every-fucking-one
is just spending a moment
on a stone
(or a speck)
in a sea
unwinding,
unending,
uncertain.
and yet
the ant still clambers on,
even when it's crushed.
flowers
still cry colors
in the desert.
lips hold each other
like jig-saw pieces
in an unfinished puzzle.
still, in the instant
your eyes pass these words
there are those
who gave enough
that they're taking life,
those screaming in white halls,
giving life,
and those
who take their own,
somewhere in the dark.
it's like Camus said:
there are only privileged people.
nothing has changed
not for anyone,
blink,
the universe
was just swallowed
in a word.
but the sun burns on,
the music keeps playing
and I still give a fuck.