think

just keep on thinking

your mind is a treasure,

no, my mind is the curse

the booby trap guarding the treasure.

i want to be special,

but i'm not even real.

i want to die,

but i'm not even alive.

i want to scream,

but my voice only works when they want it to.

the voices in my head

ask me what i'm doing here,

and i can't give them an answer.

i want to be special

i want so much to be special

but i'm just another speck of dust

floating in the nebula of the cosmos

i'm not special,

that's a lie they tell kindergarteners

to hide them from reality.

i'm as ordinary as they come,

and i'll live and die boring

just like my mother

and father

and grandparents

and everyone else.

because we're all boring,

a bunch of useless clumps of mold

eating away at the fruit of the universe

we are flies clustered on a dying star

sucking away at our food,

sipping our truth through a clogged straw

only bits and pieces get in.

think.

keep thinking, your thoughts mean something.

no they don't.

don't kid yourself.

eventually all we know will be gone,

our thoughts,

our inspirations,

our hopes, dreams, worlds.

what's the point in thinking

if it all goes down the drain?

what does it matter if i die now or later?

in the end,

we're all just specks of dust

in the universe.

and we'll never be anything more,

no matter how long we live or how much we do.