Who am I? It’s the question of the decade. Few have found truth, few are still searching, and most have made their own.
And when I say “truth” I mean my definition of truth ‘cause its the only one that matters. What I do, what I say, It doesn’t really effect. I know who I am deep down, or so I thought. My life is in crisis, a slow bleeding out of everything inside.
What if? What if all my time I’ve lived out of need? Only acting. Never living.
I am a useless piece of trash saved by grace; But for what purpose? I am no longer trash, though I was. Now I am nothing (something?) and I’m not sure what is worse.
Don’t giving me fancy words about royalty, the monarchies are long since dead; And with them my hopes of being able to make something out of myself. Keep your canned words, your abstract theories, your life giving metaphors. I want truth not fluff. I’m not saying I don’t want to hear you, I’m just saying I’ve heard it all before. Call me jaded, I’ll agree. There’s a void deep inside. I have hole. There should be a river but it’s a canyon. What’s life without purpose? What is direction without truth?
I want be. To really be. I want more than existence, I want consistency.
Do what you want. Say what you want. Think what you want. Be what you want. You’re still you; Whomever you are.