Her eyes open Struggling She roles over Dying To dream again. Another day. Another futile existence With no determined meaning, But an alleged reality.
Where is our creator? What is it? Is it science? Impossible. Science is in itself a man-made word and concept. Man did not create itself. Man only created meaning to have a sense of purpose.
But none of it is real. It’s all farce. All of us built with some need to survive. We do. By creating meaning. Out of language. Out of words. Out of images. It’s all fake. Just like this poem, Made up of meaningless words. Do we even exist?