I was here but I was there
I was there but I was here
Here being a place in which I exist as a solid
There being a place in which I exist as a soul
A light in the darkness
A hole in the void
[There] is an unknown place, where only the dead or the unborn reside
Where every soul has an understanding about this place we call home and that place we call the universe
And from what I can tell about there, that place, the universe
is that this is all a test, a game, an experience for the soul
Why we must question our existence?
I don't know
But it's all part of the experience

life is strange.
I wonder frequently
why I am conscious
did the me that I am
spring to be out of
nothingness?

"energy cannot be created;
nor destroyed"

what was I, then,
before I became me?
sometimes, I daydream
and imagine
that before being born into this hell
I was just beams of enegy
shooting out
from a supernova.

flying
past
star systems
and
comets
and nothingness
being almost nothing
no
consciousness
not yet

that is just
a daydream.
I am not religious.
but
the concept of heaven
seems pretty ******
to me.
bliss, ****
I don't want
eternal
anything.

I would get used to it.
living in bliss
would become normal
even if
it is a stark contrast
from the way
I am living right now.

no,
personally,
my idea is that
when I die
my consciousness evaporates
my soul becomes
what I was
before me
and I no longer
have thoughts,
or emotions.
that used to scare me.
it's not frightening,
because in nothingness,
you have no concept
of frightening.

you also have no concept of happiness
but none
of sadness either.
no embarassing memories
or boredom
or headaches
or being sick
I won't even
be able to miss my dogs
for I will have no concept of them.

I am not scared
of death
nor
nothingness
I welcome them
but will wait
until I get an invite.

one of the biggest questions
that used to plague me
was
why does anything exist at all?
I don't think there's an answer
as to why.
I think it just does.
and existence
means
experiencing
all of it
the happiness,
the *******
the anger
and depression

duality
is in
everything

I am not horrible
well, in some ways
I am
but in an equal amount
I am also
wonderful
and the same goes for you,
too,
though I see
each side
of the duality of your being
as something beautiful.

but why when you are a ghost
does no one seem to know?
much less notice, offer a glance
when all you crave
is one word
that you still exist
because lost inside of yourself
it's difficult to see that there is any worth

What is the meaning of life?
Is it to be remembered?
To have people tell stories of you after you are gone?
Is it to change the world?
To make an impact in the blink of existence allotted to us?
To create something that will last?
Last until everybody you knew or who knew you is dead?

Humans are obsessed with finding a meaning.
A goal.
To matter.
We are born onto an assembly line that is
go, go, go, go, go
and then it ends.
What is left?

We never take time to think about how beautiful it is just to exist.
How, for this moment to be happening, the universe had to be created.
And through an incomprehensible sequence of events you ended up here.
In this moment.
This is a miracle.
There is no need to force yourself to matter, you already do.
You are the product of billions and billions of years of work.
Cherish it.

For the words flow so much easier when you aren't trying to force them,
when you simply sit and watch the sunset and listen to the birds.

What is the meaning of life but to exist?

Take away the pain
Take away the strain
Just what would remain

I am held together with the struggle
I am held together because of all I juggle

I am nothing but agony
I am nothing but depravity
I am nothing but blasphemy

Question's on my mind weigh
If you could take that away
Do it right here today

Would I cease to exist
Would I still be here in the midst
Would I be missed

For I am nothing but self loathing, agony, and pain
If it could magically be taken away, would anything remain

Have you ever felt this way?
So empty.
So lost.
Like a raft in the ocean.
So fragile.
So alone.
Like being alone in a crowded room.
So much chaos,
Yet so quiet.
Like a falling leaf;
Now, free
Yet, dying.
Like a flower planted in a soil;
Dancing
Yet, holding back.
Like me,
Existing
but
not
*Living.

My Dreamgirl Don't Exist.
At Age 5 She Slit Her Wrist.

i've made this a long time ago
to love you
with more letters to come
and a poets to verse out
I am simply aware of my deeds
for i can be the most magical
genie in a bottle of your dreams nor for real.