In your attempt to understand life,
Misleading yourself, pushing to fight,
Your unguided system fails and falters,
You consistently pass the blame to others,
And in our sentience and own free will,
We chastise beliefs of others still,
I implore you to be mindful, perhaps,
For real intelligence seems too much to ask,
How can you believe that you are owed,
What in this life has shown you so?
How can you believe your existence has worth
Yet still acknowledge the cosmos’ lurch?
What trait of yours has been engrained
To allow you to think you’re anything?
How small minded must we all be
To disregard something we all can see?
We are a
Pitiful
Sorrow filled
Sack of
Worthless Dust,
Flying through time,
Believing we must
Find the existential,
Break new ground,
Your hollow ideals fail you
As death’s bell sounds,
-
You are a measly grain of sand,
Soaring on a spec of dirt,
Through a playground.
Your problems don’t matter,
Your emotions will have no effect.
You’re dying, cancer of the earth.
Your useless, meandering thoughts,
Fickle, fodder for space and time,
Only temporarily facilitated by
The meat suit you currently occupy.
You will die,
Your memories will fade quickly,
Your name forgotten,
Correctly bludgeoned and blotted out
By the fact that you don’t really matter.
You and I will rot like everything else.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
In your attempt to understand life,
Misleading yourself, pushing to fight,
Your unguided system fails and falters,
You consistently pass the blame to others,
And in our sentience and own free will,
We chastise beliefs of others still,
I implore you to be mindful, perhaps,
For real intelligence seems too much to ask,
How can you believe that you are owed,
What in this life has shown you so?
How can you believe your existence has worth
Yet still acknowledge the cosmos’ lurch?
What trait of yours has been engrained
To allow you to think you’re anything?
How small minded must we all be
To disregard something we all can see?
We are a
Pitiful
Sorrow filled
Sack of
Worthless Dust,
Flying through time,
Believing we must
Find the existential,
Break new ground,
Your hollow ideals fail you
As death’s bell sounds,
-
You are a measly grain of sand,
Soaring on a spec of dirt,
Through a playground.
Your problems don’t matter,
Your emotions will have no effect.
You’re dying, cancer of the earth.
Your useless, meandering thoughts,
Fickle, fodder for space and time,
Only temporarily facilitated by
The meat suit you currently occupy.
You will die,
Your memories will fade quickly,
Your name forgotten,
Correctly bludgeoned and blotted out
By the fact that you don’t really matter.
You and I will rot like everything else.
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