Dear Schopenhauer.

Dear Schopenhauer

The fingerless gloves on the table remind me 
That once you were among us
That once we were unafraid
And that once I knew what love meant.

Of course.

The dictionary does not even know 
For feelings are about as tangible as unicorns on clouds.
We all know they would just fall
And slip through the evaporated water

Of course.

Imagine what you want most in the world
And turn it in to reality.
Do you want it now? Do you need this?
Is what you always wanted what you really always wanted
And will it be what you always want in future tense.
What then shall you want? More?

Of course!

Desire never ends
Nor does will
Nor does lust or instability.

You will be feeble, friend, you’re whole damn life
So better enjoy it.

Enjoy the horrowshow.

Feast on the flesh of reality,
And sick your f*****g TEETH into somber cold meat
That is the fiction you live in inside your mind and soul and "
God, what do we listen too nowadays?

The computers are smarter because they cannot think 
And without feeling therefore are supreme.

Of course.

But without feeling, we are no more human 
And without humanity
We are just something of another name.

Piece it together.

You might make sense of this
Or perhaps you won’t
And THAT, dear reader,
Is the truth.

Nothing makes sense,
Of course,
Unless you establish it.