to be or not to be
is a question of serve anxiety
in flight of such luxury
is a quote no other
to speak in voices altogether and
be what the world be to not
such complexity
is there no simplicity
in the meaning of these words
my rest in hands not my own
be a writer or poet or none
or simply exist
co-conceding as a whole
in yet but a world not meant to be.
Oh those above
what questions must I ask thee?
for my existence to have meaning
thought,
or the meaningless of living
where i don’t see myself,
live in a world of the past
yet never see the present
and neither could I remember what of yesterday.
Of the wet cylindrical muscles which sits in a throne of bones
dictating my very thoughts
give feelings and emotions
yet all the joyest.
Yet mostly fond of the pain.
Why be such a misery?
if simply living between two intervals
of infinite time,
all meaningless to the span we live in.
A gift of life we call,
in which we try to give meaning.
Why give such meanings,
knowing it too withers away.
rot like flowers,
temporary like happiness
yet full of pain,
and made up suffering.
