Shitty Poems

Swimming In Colours

I am but swimming in colours

Different hues floating around and over and under me

Surrounding me from all directions

Yet leaving me with a sense of space and emptiness still

What are we other than concepts with legs

When you are a sack of meat on a rock in space hurtling around in circles

How do you find meaning in life and worthwhile pursuits

When all we know could merely be hallucinations

Dreams; surreal and unreal yet the closest to reality we will ever get.

I reach out and touch the colours 

Their textures are colourful too

The sounds as well

The colours have sounds too

And so do the textures

Maybe all the colours have been sounds all along?

Maybe if I close my eyes they will be just sounds

But sounds are vibrations in the air so are they textures?

Aren't the textures colours?

I sit up and feel a wave of nausea crash into me and submerge me like a tidal wave

I lie back down to dampen the spots in my vision

But lying down when you are dizzy makes it worse

According to the internet

But what is a computer screen other than swimming colours confined by plastics and glass

But then again, what are colours

And why should I trust them 

If I don't know what they are

But if I don't know what they are, how can I label things as such.

Science, books, articles - they are supposed to explain these questions

But how can a search bar on a tiny screen give me the answers to my questions that are bigger than the universe

Then again, the universe is constantly expanding

So who knows how big it is.

Is that just another lie fed to me by leather bound, tattooed, cut up tree corpses

Other wise known as books.

Are these books any good?

When I look at the monotonous colour and ideas spilt on a page 

My head swims and I see things in my mind's eye

I feel feelings that this person depicted and trapped by ink feels

I see them and the textures they touch.

I feel that I have the slightest grasp and understanding of the vast universe

If I and it and books and colours exist anyway.

I'm scared. 

The spots in my vision are back and I've lost control over my body

Someone may be calling my name or that could be ringing in my ears

I'm scared to be alone with my thoughts like this

I could be held captive here for what seems like years but would only amount to hours.

I feel a cymbal roll building up inside my chest