Sometimes I believe

Sometimes I believe

If I close my eyes

Everything will cease to be

If I made it all up

I can make it disappear

There is nothing in my philosophy

To dissuade me

When the truth of things

Is never any closer than it was.

The foot of the cliff

Is still a long drop

If I step off

How long would it take

For reason to be undone.

The shape of things

Is never defined

By the designer

The design has a way

Of rearranging itself

Into a different variation

Dependent on its frame of reference.

There is a point

Of advantage

Where my overlook

Is one step removed

From the focal point

And all becomes

Less than itself,

Greater than it was

More central to indifference.

The scream I hear

Is my own

Not that it matters

Unless identification

Is existence.

I am my own invention

Blame me for the pile

Of broken bodies

On the sand below.

The white cliffs are bloodless

The smile on the face of the dead

Is an illusion

To appease the guilt

Of the survivors.

Let me sleep,

When I close my eyes

There will be nothing

To wake up to