Existence is but an illusion,
a concocted mental prison,
but do we waste time,
or simply ignore the crime?
Misery is all that is real,
from which we may never heal,
but do we continue the fight,
or simply live with blinded sight?
Joy is a conjured feeling,
that many will find kneeling,
but do we worship the absurd,
or simply accept the illusion preferred?
There is enough pain to go around,
like the thorns of a figure’s crown,
put down the struggle and strife,
welcome to the nothingness of life.
Written by: Maria Espino
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