My Existence Poem by Michael Stevens

im my own worst enemy, fully aware of the imaginary conspiracy, involving everyone without their explicit consent, enduring the stings of their whips, that still without physically existing, leave their welts like made up bee stings, yet worse because in my head my soul is weeping, fearing, that everyone is conspiring, everyone is hating, tortured a life where i never belong to anyone nor am i a successor of anything. a wandering man of withering meaning, what am i to do, what am i to do, is there a way to salvation, a cure all path in which i should pursue. yet ill likely never know, so, i wander ever so and ill continue till i can no more, and the demons in my head subside and so does the deafing roar, as the man who i dreamed wanted to be dies and the man i am today is born.