Some days

I feel like this. Lost. As if suspended in mid air. No, not in air. Suspended in the black nothingness of the universe. Suspended in the dark and black presence of the anti-matter. Standing. Waiting. Looking around. Waiting to hear the next Vogon poem as it rips through my brain. Dreading its drilling sound, repetitiveness and total and utter voidness of any meaning or form. Feeling the devestation it leaves behind. The burnt crops, the flattened buildings, the ruined lives, the crying children, the headless cattle, the hearts beating in the burnt wheat, the greedy politicians... and all this from a single poem. But then the day passes and most often a new one dawns. And there is a 50/50 chance it will be better... And one day I will live to see the 50% chance materialise...