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What I feel is nothing,
No sorrow, no happiness,
No fear, no comfort,
Yet I smile and let it phase ,
Into an emotionless state.

A nobody with no desire,
I have tiny aspirations,
To keep me abode this plane,
Floating in existential dreams,
I wake myself up again.

To tread this life's path,
I think I wasn't chosen,
Or perhaps I chose to be,
To quell this tug and pull,
Of cosmic threads that hold me.

What I feel, I think not.
I think not, what I know.
I know not, a single speck.
Yet, I carefully maneuver,
For what I know, may not be.
Perhaps someday, I will know what I know :)
It felt like starvation; now only death can ease insatiable inquisitions.
Marveled by celestial decisions, And while the findings are marvelous, I still question existence.
My mind was traveling parsecs; I couldn't digest the doctrines—I was losing my religion.
Question it all.
I'm mad enough to go to war, but I can't save the world.
One must taste the dirt before all can be unearthed.
The further I ferret the rabbit hole, the more is known of which I don't.
I know there's nothing after this.
My environment, the catalyst, called for perspectives few could ever witness.
The story's just beginning.
The pieces coalesced for the nascent stages of my thesis.
Instead of hiding behind my intellect, I set sail on the Ship of Theseus.
David Cunha Jan 11
Early turqoise sky
Damp heart beats melancholy
Mind is in refuge
- David Cunha
january 11, 2024
11:21 p.m.
Francis Nov 2023
What goes in, always,
Comes out,
Through the ******* of life,
Which is **** itself.

Such a waste,
That we are born,
Live,
And die,
Fighting for things,
Money
Materials,
******* things,
That we can’t take with us,
When we die.

What a ******* waste it all is,
Yet somehow,
Everything and everyone is needed,
For the next phase of waste.
**** becomes fertilizer,
We become reborn,
Into whatever else is **** out next.
Philosophically marvelous— just kidding
Kitt Sep 2023
I turned my attention to the water, and I was suddenly struck by the immensity of everything.
“The world is so big,” I said aloud,
more to myself than to him.
He nodded, but I couldn’t shake
the feeling that he just didn’t get what I was saying.
I didn’t mean, “the world is big.”
I wasn’t talking about the vastness of the seas’ endless waters
or the sheer size of the globe we walked on.
I was talking about the infinite
nature of the world, how it was stuffed full
of corners and niches that I would never see.
I imagined all of the homes, filled with love, with shame, with something
in between.
A bee, circumnavigating the area around a wilting tulip.
The involuntary wringing of a grandmother’s hands during tense moments.
A boy practicing violin.
A wedding, a birth, another wedding, a death, a funeral, and the continuation
of life around the hole left by the dead
until the cycle continued so much that the hole was filled.
I imagined the ports where ships docked and ******* between voyages, the cobblestone streets of French towns and the mountainous landscapes of the past.
I pictured dogs, scratching on fences, and a girl
brushing her hair by an open window.
I saw the corners and pockets of life, shared with the world
or kept to oneself. The gaps behind stoves,
the crannies seen only by blind mice and frightened roaches,
the dark tunnels beneath the earth. I saw in a flash the water parks where children played,
the quiet moments of morning coffee reveled in by morning people
who rose before the sun.
I pictured the greasy back-alley of a fast food joint
and realized that, for better or for worse,
I would never see
even a fraction
of what the world had to offer.
08/01/18
xjf Aug 2023
It may be that
the purpose,
Is not written into
the program.
The lightest touch
Is all it takes
To stimulate
The thirsty mind
Desires like delusions
Bloom out of needs
Unmet
To own and to possess
To have and to hold
What is the difference
Between marriage and
Slavery?
So many expectations
Inevitable like gravity
Forsaking the self
In exchange for
The we.
The body continues
Its fleshy desires
Long after
The mind is
Made
When the desires of body
Overtake mind
What am I?
Is it me?
Is it, it?
Existential rumination, am I the player, the game, what am I?
JM Larsen Jan 2023
~Oh! Delicious Death of Self~

your un-Selfing of Life
fermented sweet,

eyes opening,
filling with
| V O I D |

the substance of the
Nameless White Light's
Nothingness,
infinitely
present

Unblinking in its
inescapable
witnessing of
The All of its
not-self
for Jodi
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