To write or not to write
To exist or to not exist
To live or not to live
That is the question
Realization of the futility of things,
And Mortality it seems,
Have been my catalyst in my progression
To act is to live
And to escape the hell of doing nothing, being nothing
Although we are created nothing,
Something can be created from nothing
My creed is to not erase
Self doubt reigns as I write this
And so henceforth I charge
Into the depths of this white madness
Creating something in this white blank storm
No going back I say
But I look back and I can’t see anything ahead of me
Time is ticking as specks of snow rapidly swirl around me
And I grasp any thing of form
But all I feel is air
Perhaps it’s not external
It’s internal
Where can I find myself
What will be my light to illuminate the darkness
Is it ironic that I myself am the light
Or that I am the only key fitting the lock
And when I open the door what will I find
Something of imaginable proportions of darkness, a monster
Or perhaps light
But I think what’s real
Is simply what I see with my two eyes
How it is, with its flaws and virtues
That’s me
Any way the wind blows
Nothing really matters to me
Henceforth
I’m living life through my two eyes, like a first person adventure game
Modern skyrim essentially
And to keep leveling up through the journey
10/10 baby
Erik's Poetry 