I'd better drown

It feels like a decade ago. You've lost grasp over things and all you can do is watch these fingers of yours and wonder if they're long enough. Your lover never told you anything about them. Are they ugly? Are you fat? Do you like yourself? Can you settle for what you have? Do you need more? Do you suffer from chronic insatisfaction? Are you less intelligent than your peers? Should you feel despair?

I don't know. You don't know. And we both swim in that ocean of question marks. Our shirts get stuck in the hooks of these things. They slow us down. But then again, we decide to take our shirts off. We are bare-chested. And we don't care. We keep swimming. But why?

I don't know. I guess you don't know either. Do you want to guess? You've got a billion question mark beside you. Black, big punctuation floating in a sea you didn't/haven't/tried but failed to/ won't ever understand. I don't understand. What should you do? Should you guess? Should you ask yourself a question? What if you do?

I tell you what will happen: you will drown. If you start picking these marks, they will weigh enough to drown you. You will die. Stop.

Don't ask yourself any questions. Keep swimming. Shut up. Go forth

But then again, where will you go?