Dear Nietzsche

i.
one hundred and fourty-four kilometres an hour down the highway
and I still can't get you out of my head.

ii.
a gas station in a town with as little purpose as me
one dollar and nine cents,
seventy two steps,
and fourteen beautifully toxic exhales later
and I still can't get you out of my head.

iii.
a little girl once asked me
what was the point of it all?
I laughed in her face and wondered how she wasn't dead yet.

iv.
seven years later,
I knew the answer.

v.
under a canopy of stars
which poets, dreamers, and lovers would call beautiful
I reflected upon it- 'nothing.'
the answer is nothing.
there is no purpose to anything we do,
because every action is simply something to pass the time,
while our lives creep, inexorably
towards what will ultimately be
a completely insignificant
and unspectacular
end.

vi.
and even knowing this,
I still can't get you out of my head.