every existing thing is born without reason

the attempt of articulation of the abstract;

feelings too unfocused to figure; 

emotions endlessly endeavoring for expression

in a world where the only thing that matters

are the connections we give meaning, 

the venture to put these meanings into words

turns complexity into comforting

the desperate distraction from the desultory;

speculative soliloquies on the senseless;

tenacious theses to tireless thought

the world is interminable but words are finite;

they are the weapons we have against the weight of insignificance.

nothing gets remembered, everything will be forgotten 

but through expression of the existential we make a case for our existence 

i am scared of living in a world without explanation;

only through articulation do i escape this condemnation