the past is a parasite
my mind is filled with clutter.
oh, who am i to figure out
what life has got to offer?...

but often times i ponder if the world is even real,
if i'm becoming numb or if i just forgot to feel
if this all is some big test to see who leaves their fear behind
it's all just some illusion demonstrated by an eye
if we're trapped inside the matrix, if i'm dead or i'm alive
if we're all a bunch of actors in a play we can't survive
and one day everything will fall apart and we will die
or if everyone is faking or if we all just feel alone
or if i'm the only conscious in a word that's filled with drones
either way we'll say this world is crazy on it's own
and uncertainty is certain til we all have made it home

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allets's picture

I Like It!

" a play we can't survive..." Often in a story poem about the nature of existence a line or two jump off the page and this is one. Nice ~allets~