Gone

Everything I touch wants to disappear, even the air.

So I sit slowly suffocating on emptiness.

Nothing to hold onto to steady myself.

Everything I know just dissipates.

By a simple touch, all is gone.

So therefore the world is at my fingertips.

I could leave my print painted on the earth.

I won’t, I don't find a meaning in doing that.

Then again having meaning behind actions,

To me it is useless, an alibi is the extent of it.

Having purpose in this meaningless life.

Seems important but will matter none at the end.

We all die sometimes and in some way.

We all end up six feet under at our grave.

Show up to our funeral, can’t avoid this one.

This event is practically forcing us to come.