Nothing is Real
By N.B
I am not real,
I sit here, sinking into the ground,
controlling this body that is separate from my mind.
Who am I but a figment of my own imagination.
What is considered bad or good, real or not real, bright or dark,
It is all perspective. It is all about what side of the road your on.
looking into the street, seeing the world from one side or another.
The only way to see both sides, to see all sides,
is if you stand in the middle of that street.
But then as you see all, you also stand in the vulnerability of the weight of the world.
As humans we pick sides,
we vote for who is aligned with our beliefs.
for, or against abortions?
for, or against gay rights?
for, or against the death penalty?
who are we to say what is right or wrong.
we are mindless sheep following one herd or another.
two directions, two options, it is life or death.
but then again is life or death really so different?
we live to die and die to live.
we are in a world constructed of fake ideals and brainwashed superiors.
I am standing in the middle of that road.
I am standing in the middle of that road and I can finally see.
but standing here, standing with the weight of all that is good and bad and in-between on my shoulders,
I pray on my knees in the middle of that road that next time a car comes racing down it, they will finally see me, and pick something between the options of stopping, or continuing to go. I am waiting for that one person who gets out of there car, to sit and see the world as a whole.
The earth is a gift corrupter by chaos and choices.
nothing is real, and everything is real.
why are we forced to decide?
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