What if I died tomorrow?
Would anyone care?
Would anyone remember me,
Or would I just be a wandering shadow?
A figment of a broken dream.
It is this question I ask myself
Each and every day.
As I walk down hallways
Through empty streets
and night time darkness.
I heard the enlightened prophet once say
"I am nothing..."
So why do I feel like making something.
You can't make something from nothing...
Can you?
Yet if nothing means everything
Then why am I here?
Who am I?
Why won't he leave me alone?
Why does he fill my head with fear?
Fill my loins with his filth?
Inside and out
I can never be complete.
Not anymore...
Am I forever a walking disease?
These dumb questions I continually ask
Walking and on-going to destination unknown.
Is there really joy in sorrow?






12 old applause
