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Questions- A Poem
Who am I? What am I? Why am I here? I don’t think I know. Can you help me? I need the help. Do you see me? People keep walking past like I’m not even here. I think I exist. I feel. I smell things. Hear things. But am I a thing? What time is it? I think there’s time, but time for what? I see, but I don’t even know what I’m looking at. It’s a lonely, confusing feeling; state of being rather. I’m tired. But tired of what; I could not tell you. But I am oh so familiar with the feeling, the emptiness. The sour acidic taste on the back of my tongue. The dull ringing in my ears, the scratchy sensation in the palms of my hands. What is it? Its unhappiness and a profound sense of loss that shakes you to your very core and makes you question why you’re even here.
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