Dear Harlot
You kept my soul in check.
The loneliness encased was spent.
Wonders of unending flesh.
And yet the scent is fleeting.
The seclusion returns afresh.
The ethereal heart deceiving.

What once brought sweet memories.
Now are void parentheses.
My empty arms are bare.
In addition a cadaverous stare.
Skin cold with horripilation.
Trudging on in desolation.

I long for comfort I confess.
To the skies I do profess.
For on the ground my feet shall stay.
Am I worthy whose to say.

Another harlot.
Anther day.
Not my harlot.
Not my harlot.
Not my harlot.

A glimpse of her visage I pray.
Solitude is how I pay.

Each mind is situated on  the spectrum of belief and reality.
Both ends suffer in their search for the truth.
The man who spends his life navigating the spiritual realm.
He attempts to find the greater purpose for everything.
Every blade of grass, each eroded stone a symbol of something bigger.
The nuances of life analysed and expanded upon to their very limit.
Given meaning in the name of God or the foreshadowing omen of an individual.

The man who traverses reality, grounded in science and logistics.
His mind filled with hypotheses.
Observing outcomes to explain the inexplicable.
He fits his grass and stones into the puzzle of a greater system.
In doing so he is God and the purpose for all things he assigns.

Both men strive to be the voice heard by the masses.
Their findings recorded, read, believed.
In the end does it truly matter.
Two lives spent.
Kneeling, yearning for some kind of affirmation that their time was spent correctly.
That they added anything to the greater scheme.
Pages upon pages filled with every detail in a grain of sand.
The end comes, the ink runs, the pages wither to dust, knowledge lost, purpose forgotten.
The world keeps turning.

Some lack the intelligence to question.
Successfully saturated in meaningless pleasure.
Content with the everyday.
Is the answer found in ignorance?
In Bliss?
No, it is only constant escape.
A blindfold of euphoria.
The alpha enjoys life but never feels the need to understand fully.

In this new age there are those.
Those who bestow false titles on themselves.
Titles to distract for what they deem is personal happiness.

Happiness is a chemical distraction.
The avoidance of happiness lays bare the foundations of life.
Depression broadens the mind but overwhelms the individual.
Substance expands the mind.
New thoughts, new processes.
The key is not found in fungi.
Through it, the introduction to the question is bestowed.

Life, the most widespread joke without a punchline.
We throw ourselves into the playground for amusement, some way to pass the endless stream of time.
We have the power to do many terrible great things but not the will to perform.
We drown in our misunderstanding and want for companionship.
No one wants to meet what comes next alone.
We surround ourselves with the others but are they real or just figments of the great simulation.
Which ones are REAL?
What does it all mean?
We ask repeatedly and distract from the oncoming dread by soaking our brains in pleasure and petty tasks.
When there is none to be found we suffer in nothingness.
Crave the meaning of it all, but fear the truth.
Map the endless universe for an answer but only so far is the reach of a crafted lens.
Sometimes we think we see the solution in the sparkle of another's eyes but love.
Love is but another falsity.
Eventually everything fades, even one's biological function for passion.
Whatever we are, we were meant to seek the answer.
If there is none, we suffer internally eternally.
This is Hell!
What comes next is endless slumber, trapped in the pod of another plain of existence.
Until we dare to amuse ourselves again.
Memory wiped.
The experiment.
The thrill.
The punchline revealed!