Do I care if someone reads this?
Just a few words that I put together one night.
A blog wrapped in a medium of stone age art.
I spend my life building these structures,
semi representation of my underlying self
replicating a random style, theme, and form.
All this time of study on how to find rhyme,
interlocked with philosophical quandaries
and a self-reflection of my psychological state.
Winding out long hidden feelings, sending it all out,
like yelling out the window to see who actually turns.
Though, do I shout loud enough,
or do I prefer whispering to myself?
I wonder if I care if nobody reads this.
We come into life, and leave it alone for a reason,
our whole being is to trapped behind our outward gaze.
Madness is external, so is our precious vanity.
Nobody cares, and everybody is a nobody,
So who does?
If my eyes are the last to see these words,
I ask what that means to me.
I put this out to be read,
but if it’s not
do I care?