What Does It Matter

The planets seem to fall when I cry. But it is only the wind drying out my contacts. It seems so small, my soul, sitting in silence Just waiting for my justification of existence. The clouds give me reason. Still, though, it may be pointless. Religion may be wrong. Often times I hear them question it. In a room speaking of Michelangelo. Should we wait? for a time? When all the planets align? or islands to move? No, says the optimist! Maybe says the pessimist. As for me, it does not matter anymore, like a lost teen. (Doing drugs desperately) Suicide or death, or even life. Makes no difference. Planets only seem to fall when I cry.