In all the time I've spent contemplating the meaning of life,
I've driven myself crazy by trying to establish a true since of wrong and
right.
But do I even know what wrong and right are?
Does anyone really know? If we don't, how could we have gotten this far?
But who's to say what anything really and truly is?
If you think about it, isn't it all just a matter of opinion?

Then the light slowly dawned on me,
I'll never understand life, because I barely even understand me.

Just what exactly am I? Am I truly as cold as winter's wind?
Strong as stone, the void I am made out to be?
Well I once thought so, that at least that was mostly me.
But I'm not so sure if I can say that one hundred percent truthfully.

Like a messenger in the night, I appear out from the shadows, and I come to
save your life.
From my darkened corner I watch all that goes on around me,
And the years of bitter solitude have made my senses rather keen.
Like a dog who hears a whistle that is silent to our ears, I can pick up on
the signals for help that the sorrowful and lost send so extremely easily.
And as they flounder on the edge of death, I pick them up and put their feet
back on life's disorganized set.
I give them a map and guide them from the darkness, my entire world,
And once they are safely on the other side, I disappear, and then they
wonder if I was ever really there.

So how can I truthfully say that I don't care about anyone?
I've prevented death and destruction for some, yet for others, I wish it.
My inner fires burned all that was around me and now I am left with the
ashes of the world I once knew.
The world spins and changes around me, and I survive only by seeking to
understand it.
A safe distance away in my desolate lands, beneath the gravestones shadow
with a pen in my hand,
I struggle to break down that which I do not understand.

So many aspects of myself that no one will ever know,
As I sit and let myself and my past be buried by the snow.
So what exactly am I?
Am I a cold breath of wind?
Am I a raging wildfire?
Am I the living keeper of the land of death?

To prevent the loss of my already thinning sanity I told myself I was all.
But now I wonder if those things can even manage to co-exist at all?
Can you be a hero and be bitter that you had none at the same time?
And on top of those both things, can you find some space to pride yourself
on the fact that you were your own?
Can you somehow tell yourself you need no one but yourself, and tell others
that that is the lesson they should learn,
But then go out of your way to save others lives and slow their problems
that have absolutely nothing to do with yourself?

Keep trying to understand, and the buzzing will never cease...
And admits all my thoughts a new one starts to speak.
It asks, in a quiet voice...
Is this what insanity feels like form the inside?

 
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