Sick to the core

[Apathetically feeling the depth and complexity of her fall.]

Not mad, nor upset.
Not sad, nor annoyed.
Not angered, nor perplexed.
I observe self.
And that is all.

Within dissonance
And curses
I no longer feel.
This is reality.

If apathy is the greatest tragedy,
The poet spoke truthfully.
I do not wish to feel,
I wish to feel.
I do not wish,
I wish.
I do not,
I do.
Not I,
I.

This is the cryptic,
The most wretched
Mystery, fall and glory of all creation:
Man who stands alone.

Quoth Pascal,
"These infinite spaces fill me with dread."

They run,
Chasing after something.

They envy
Those who have better.

They fight
Either with other selves
Or with themselves

When I no longer feel
And apathy fills me with this blissful dread
What reason remains for me to continue the pursuit of life?

If God does not exist,
Indeed, no reason remains to dwell in this dreadful piece of many infinite spaces.
Man loses his will to life,
When he sees that all is chasing after the wind.

How silly, he smirks.
If he had the power to transcend,
Man would be God.
But he too is a mortal.
Not able to transcend by life or death,
Nor immortal.

No hope, no reason remains.

Unless

[Fin.]