I feel the weight of my words
crumble more with every day
that passes by,
like Autumn leaves beneath
my feet.
And I wonder if they ever
meant anything,
or if they ever will again.
Someone once told me that
life is merely a series of moments,
like blury foreign films
watched in a ***** haze.
Our lives are but a silver platter
of stories that can hardly be proven,
only eaten by those who listen.
There will never be certainty
that "then" ever really happened,
that words were ever said,
or even felt.
We are insignificant figures
of organic matter
and restless molecules
that spit out words,
to form phrases,
to form moments,
that never truly occur.
And again,
I wonder if I ever meant anything,
or if I ever will again.