Existentialism
I feel empty,
and don’t know what to do with myself.
Why do I exist?
Does my life have purpose?
What is consciousness?
I ask,
but there is no definitive answer.
The unknown sickens me with fear-
what am I doing this second?
Am I wasting this precious life?
Ticking away,
the clock is counting down the minutes until I die.
I want more
but I’m too
hesitant
skeptical
afraid to reach out.
I take the easy way out-
I regret everything
I’m selfish.
This poem is about:
Me
Our world