why bother

she tells me
from her bedroom
window, elbows
on the sill, throwing
her hair back,
she says, why bother,
there's nothing
new, nothing.
no orignial thought
or sin, or unique
point of view,
it's all been
said and done,
and sung and written,
and painted on
a wall. what's
the point, why
go on, why give
it any thought. i
don't know, i tell
her. i just
do. i can't help
myself, i keep
going, but i know
one thing, i could
never live the way
you do.