My head is overloaded;
My thoughts are the bullet,
And my brain is a hapless victim.
Nothing matters:
Not life, not death, not you, nor me—
Nothing matters.
The doctors call this an
Existential crisis;
‘you are in the midst of believing
Your life has no external meaning,’
He says, ‘don’t worry, you’ll get over it.’
In the hurricane of my reality,
I crack; my thoughts ****** my brain,
And I say goodbye to tranquillity,
And you with your fragile frame.
I’m not sad—I’m too lost feel
Grief. Instead, I realise this is what I need.
To part ways with our partial ordeal.
I hope happiness is what you bleed.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 2:38 PM UTC
My head is overloaded;
My thoughts are the bullet,
And my brain is a hapless victim.
Nothing matters:
Not life, not death, not you, nor me—
Nothing matters.
The doctors call this an
Existential crisis;
‘you are in the midst of believing
Your life has no external meaning,’
He says, ‘don’t worry, you’ll get over it.’
In the hurricane of my reality,
I crack; my thoughts ****** my brain,
And I say goodbye to tranquillity,
And you with your fragile frame.
I’m not sad—I’m too lost feel
Grief. Instead, I realise this is what I need.
To part ways with our partial ordeal.
I hope happiness is what you bleed.
