What’s the point of living when dying feels so good?

What’s the point of happy if sad is the only one who understands me?

What’s the point of love if fury is what fuels me?

What’s the point of being kind if I know rude will always shield me?

What’s the point of fate when life’s only real constant is its unpredictability?

What’s the point of forgiveness when resentment feels oh, so satisfying?

What’s the point of friendships if they leave your backside open?

What’s the point of anything if everything can be anything and also nothing at all?