I’ve understood from a very young age that life is nothing more than you’d perceive.

How do You see the world? Very much like me?

Looking down at your hands, observing the mirror,

And thinking, this is my vessel, I think?

Never feeling in touch with the world around,

Or even with that which is close.

Emotions like rage, resentment and grief,

Sadness a mere throbbing of your heart

And the tightness of your lungs, tears reddening your face

But these are only your body’s reaction to things

That we were told from young were painful to embrace.

If we were never told that these were unpleasant,

Would we still think ourselves unfortunate for knowing?

My mind feels distant, my thoughts feel cloudy

My sight just glazing, my hands not feeling.

Was this how things were supposed to be?

Not cold, not warm,

Not hurting, not comfy

Simply drifting through a foggy space,

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Barely clinging to a random place

Feeling as though with one small snip,

It would drift away into the open plane?

Nothing feels real, little makes sense.

It simply is, the only end is death.

I would describe it unpleasant, but is that really the case?

Why would we evolve into such a state?

I can rarely think, clearly or not.

I wonder, am I the only one here?

Are others like this as well? Are they here?

Alone, drifting, uncaring, unknown.

Perhaps we all share this grey foggy space,

But we are all far too far to see each other

Or maybe we were never even looking in the first place.

If that is so, then what does it matter

What we do with our lives (after all it will all end soon

Regardless of how much we put into use)

Is this how things were always supposed to be?

Is everything around me real or not?

Does it matter?