Existentialism

I feel empty, 

and don’t know what to do with myself.

Why do I exist?

Does my life have purpose?

What is consciousness?

I ask, 

but there is no definitive answer.

The unknown sickens me with fear-

what am I doing this second?

Am I wasting this precious life?

Ticking away, 

the clock is counting down the minutes until I die. 

I want more

but I’m too 

hesitant

skeptical

afraid to reach out.

I take the easy way out- 

I regret everything

I’m selfish.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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