I have to let myself go
over and beyond the call
of time tickling my outsides
laughing so hard, at how soft real life is.
however It is with not without sadness,
that I look out from this shell
Upon this beautiful mess of my soul
leaked across every fathom of space,
that I come to the conclusion
I probably never existed in the first place.
And yet even this sweet sorrow
for this small (no)thing I called myself
can console me
Personally and or transcendently
maybe it's the only thing that does.