What's the point?

And I have to ask myself, what's the point? Our chromosomes are breaking down, not much time left. The cancer is spreading and they're all dying in fires and holes in faraway places. Dear Goddess fuck the price of gas, who cares because we're all DYING. And I have to wonder why, why am I bothering to get out of bed? My art is me and I am my art but honestly that's all I can see anymore, is the art, and the pain. And recently they've become one and I can't help but to feel lost and confused and I'm losing myself to it. Night terrors and the smell of smoke as I try to keep him alive, try to stop the burning from getting to him too. These bags under my eyes are part of the landscape of my face now. Waking up in a pool of sweat isn't much fun but who am I to complain when this kid in Haiti doesn't have food or shelter or people to say "I love you" to him. I'm so lucky, lucky for these sleepless nights, fears, the ability to change something in my life. But I'm fucking scared. Scared when he walks out the door, scared because he might not come back because it happens. It happens to anyone and everyone and you only have time time you're given but you're never told how long. Everything is so delicate, people die but they also survive. So what is it? Is the will to live greater than the fragile fabric of our bodies? I'm scared to die but I'm scared to live for fear it will be a waste. Because in 1,000 years will anyone know I was here, will our species even be here? There's too many forces against us but so much in our favor. And I'm still asking myself, what's the fucking point when you live in a world where 3 year olds can die?