Who am I? What am I? What is my existence? Where am I heading? What will become of me?—Five questions, no answers, only increasingly dark possibilities.

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Who am I,

when I laugh so loud, and also when I cry?

Am I a terrible figment of God’s imagination,

or perhaps, as I often tell myself, a mirthful lie?

Perhaps, I am what was meant to be discarded,

or maybe, to be ignored carelessly, or meant to die

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What am I,

when I beg and beseech, looking up to the sky?

Am I a chaotic and messy pile of junk and trash,

or perhaps a weird collection of impossible thoughts?

Perhaps, I am a useless and wasteful hand of tarot,

a card with no picture or symbol, only stains and dots

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What is my existence,

when I examine my state from some distance?

Is this just a never-ending nightmare, 

or perhaps just sand slipping through my grasp?

Perhaps, there is really nothing that I truly have,

and maybe the rope of hope is just a venomous asp

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Where am I heading,

with a resolve all strong, and my wings all spreading?

Am I diving headfirst into an unfathomable abyss,

or perhaps heading towards doom, with a loud roar?

Perhaps, I am driving down the road to hell,

while the shadow of doubt grows even more

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What will become of me,

will I ever know for sure, and will I ever see?

Will I always be searching for what I dream of,

or is the door just locked forever, and there is no key?

Perhaps, what I touch, will one day become gold,

but by then, all the light will be lost to the dark sea