To me, you are purely ephemeral;
We are irrelevantly real.
And I am left with no one but myself,
With this hollowness I feel.
And still, I am hardly here,
Just a mass of scattered free radicals.
A steady-state cascade;
A time-killing fanatical.
I laugh because it is absurd,
And carry on without a word.
She was blanched,
Scuffed like an epiphyses.
Gritted between molars,
Eyed blind,
Her body curved in magnificent sacrilege;
Flagrant,
Inexplicitly mine.
My secondhand thing,
That some dub love.
I just gawped
Whenever she took it off;
And seeped
Into the ground at her feet.
I woke up and remembered that there was nothing else;
I woke up and wondered why I hadn't killed myself.
I was dead set
On something but nothing and everything yet;
All meaning unmet.
All the null that added up to self;
All the lives that lie to blindly dwell.
I laugh because it is absurd;
The others dare not speak the word.
--
"There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide."
-Albert Camus, absurdist
Categories:
epiphyses, allusion, introspection, life, muse,
Form: Rhyme