You believe that after a time you can be free
Yet you take no steps to gain distance
between your self and your wants
You want most to want what else he wants
it's too obvious how carefully you tread
and cry for help inside of your head

Morning in the dark of winter
long before the sun could rise
I am awake and itching to see the Earth
To go outside and breathe in stifling air
that only stifles if you expect it to
and it's awfully quite funny to pretend
and it's terribly amusing to ignore
until outside, and you wonder,
What is the pretense for?

Ah, yes, so this is reality
wrapped up and defined
a mere inch of cosmic truth
a mere fathom of existence
and we exist, yet
in the realm of senses
relishing the feeling touch leaves
on your nervous system
where the signal is reached in your brain
and your atoms and molecules are solid for one moment
but then there is no awareness
and you are again existence and the cosmos

A funeral at 8 years old, with no attachment felt
I dissociate, realizing mortality for a moment
and fall into the monotony of routine and life
a protection of fragile ego and, possibly, sanity
A thought, inescapable, I will die. One day I will
no longer be here. So what of existence, and what that of reality?
I live in a denial of truth, lingering in my youth
far beyond what I have ever expected
I am really going to grow old and wither
My molecular structure will be the destruction
If I can't figure it manage to find a way to save myself
because when I die I'll find out absolutely nothing
*What will happen to my consciousness, all that is really me?