Proposals

Let's get one thing straight: we don't have any answers

We are proposals in a cosmic nursery

And these massive stars -- they're just little twinkles

If I can't possess them at such magnificence

So if you can really hear me,

And you really think you believe in it

Then there must be some kind of privelege here

To putter around with such an existence

And if you see me on some stage

And you believe it's really me over there

Well, there's a chance it's not really me

Maybe we're not ourselves at all

And maybe being is simply believing that each breath we take in

Must lead to another breath out, one more breath away from

yesterday

and a timeline of yesterdays

Filled in with love or with pain or whatever bullshit we smear

on our sleeves

I've found my cause, and this is it --

There are no answers

Am I what I am? Is that what this is? Is this all there is