Walking in the graveyard,
Looking for the undead,
Is the living dread,
If not for the walking dead.
In hate, agony, and death,
The living unlock the truth
Of love, wonder, and life.
Whatever brings the strife,
Is matched and brought to the light.

In life, we fail and win.
In death, we thrive and lose,
In a mere attempt, we survive
The whatever mystery we are bestowed
To unlock and reset.
Life, huh?!
It indeed is a paradox!

Living underneath the shadow of my ideal twin
Is like living in a merciless, dark cavern.
For all the times I think
My existence is doomed to the brink
Of whatever is there between half death
And half life, I rise to the hazy life
That’s filled with caffeine,
Mere bitterness and riots.

That’s when I started to the scars on
my body like braille,
for I no longer know how
to tell a story that belongs
deeply to me, but is
no longer just mine.
It’s a cohesion of all within
All without.
And everything that has left me bereft.
For all days, I stayed in the cavern,
For all the moments I’ve shaded myself within,
I thrive to become my ideal twin.
The one who lives in the veils of the sun,
Out in the bright light.

Did the world happen to me?
Or have I happened to it?
Am I the centre of the world
Or is the world the centre of me?
If I create my world within the world,
Am I considered sane or absurd?
If I was not of this world,
Would I have become good?
Or worse?
Where do you locate the foci
Of existence?
In this world or your own self?
Or your own universe?
Would the world get better
If I wasn’t in it?
Am I the mistake that happened
To the world itself?
Or was the cosmos
The giant blunder I stumbled upon?
If the world wasn’t made of
A great if,
What would have become of me?