I think that I think I exist.
If thinking equals being,
Then I think that I exist.
But it’s not a conscious
Decision to will myself
Into this existence
And this is evident by
The persistent indecision
That I find myself facing
On a daily basis.
Because I’ve lived
My life thinking
“I think, therefore I am”
But I find I am in
A constant battle of
Positive versus negative
And logic dictates
I wouldn’t wish it
Upon myself so
Who did?
How would I know
If this wasn’t just
Some kind of crazy,
Inconsistent coma dream
From one too many
Car crashes, causing
Flashes of different lives
To flash across my eyes
In a systematic series of
Fortunate and unfortunate events.
Maybe this isn’t even me,
Maybe I’m someone else’s
Fantasy or hallucination,
A nighttime thought creation
Or process of dissociation,
A cultivation and culmination
And overall manifestation
Of stress and frustration
Or a figment of a
Perfect stranger’s imagination.
But at the risk of waxing existential,
I don’t think we’ve considered
The absolute potential of
Being part of an extraterrestrial
Game of The Sims.
Being trapped at the whims
And mercies of martians
Or deities who let us
Virtually have no control
In our lives.
Question from Justine F. from Facebook
Mxcellany - Poetry, Music, Art 