Nihilistic Solipsism

Oh,
How does one know,
That the world is not simply,
Conjured within the head?
Is one,
Simply dead?

That all existence,
Prying forth from fated abnormity,
Is hence;
A chamber of massed conformity.

Within this barreled heart,
Lies value, integrity, honour and worth.
And for what part?
Where, and what gave birth?

It is but foil and quintessence of dust,
But lies and traps and the deceit of 'must',
That to survive, thine instilled I must trust,
For 'it is right, and it is just'.

What rot,
I say not,
For I forgot,
What is behind such lot.

Do I see the error in my judgement?
Do I see where a lie was spent,
My theory, indent,
My ways of nought but detriment?

I see it kills me,
Yet I cannot deny,
For what I see
I must comply.

The world is nought but in the head,
Alone! I say, alone!
And yes I am but simply dead
And for that, one cannot atone.