What is life?
How do we know we live?
Why do we live?

Isn't it just one big illusion,
Or a big dream,
Or just a mere fantasy.

Sometimes life feels so empty,
It feels like it doesn't exists,
And yet it does.

Sometimes it feels like on big joke,
It feels like we are being controlled,
Like the Sims people in the Sims.

Sometimes I like to think about how small we are,
And yet are the rulers of the earth,
Although we are destroying it.

Are we really alone in this existence,
Is there no one else out there,
Not even the tiniest piece of life of some sort?

When I think about those things,
I feel so small and vulnerable,
I feel like the real me that I am.

Tiny and small.
It doesn't matter who I am.
As I am one little dot in this entire existence.

Or is it even an existence?
Am I really a live?
Does it really all exist?

Or is it just my fantasy,
Like a drawing of a little kid,
Who draws stones with faces.

Are we really existing?
And if so, why do we?
Who are we?
What are we?
Where are we?

I know who I am, I know what I am, I know where I am.
I am me, I am what I am, I am where I am.
It is what makes me me, humble and small.