The Confluence

Our existence,
Doesn't depend on our knowledge,
There's no place to be safe,
To trust in what we are supposed to be.
But in those things we are now becoming.

A lost empiric reign ,
Emptiness through my veins,
Bloody presuppositions,
Illusions towards me,
Trying to find,
The thin line that separates me from,
Another reality.
Another reality.

Ontological distortions,
embodied blame and blood,
Constrictions of knowledge,
potentials of being nowhere.

There's no a starting point

I found a slit that gave me a new light
A relentless framework of a new word.
We are lost searching what's in between our perception.
And the continuum of timelessness.
In life travel we have no aim,
No starting point,
We are lost,
But in the end,
We'll find each other.