Emptiness is my home, my singularity. Every emotion I feel is a universe, a big bang, a genesis and everything from nothing. Every pain, every rage, every love, every emotion is everything and I am nothing. There is comfort in nothingness, the warm Texas winters, in my hoodie that smells of smoke and feels of the warmth of my grandmother's hold, the hold I've outgrown, the warmth only produced from a grandmother to a young child. One day I will write poems of this multiverse of emotions, but I have to survive it first. I don't think there will ever be survival of my multiverse, but one can hope. What is a better hope, the hope to die, or the hope to live normalcy? The hope to die, is the hope to not exist, the hope of numbness to overtake my multiverse, and feel apocalypse, and the hope for normalcy, is the hope to not be myself. But i feel the world needs me, i am the all singing,all dancing fool of the earth, the world needs someone like me, the jester of earth, the punching bag of the world, at best the metaphorical little brother of the people who favor me with their lives more put together than me, and hated by the world itself. Seems a quid pro quo,as the world is the only plausible outlet for rage and pain, god's job seems the hardest, if a god can exist, i hope one does, but to make me seems an antithesis to his existence. In the book of Job, God sends a bear to maul a hateful soul. I often ponder the existence of the bear, a tool for God's wrath. Will the bear live a fulfilled life of feast and hibernation, or will he die and just cease to exist? A constant ponderance of existence, seems to be the only true way to hate and appreciate it. I am the dead and dying of the living and thriving. My legacy with me.