Existence, by Angela Tian

Do I exist or do I not? am I a man of substance with flesh and bone?

Or am I simply a phantom roam under light?

Following the pace of sleepwalkers, like my fellow dreamer illuminate by fantasy, similar to drunken men wavering about on weakness legs

I unaware. Either dead, or lay in suspended animation.

Awakened at the point of death.

Freed for wakeful living.

Opened my eyes. Then, light stabbed through darkness...

No... It is always there... Pardon me? A hoax? A contradiction? Seeing the darkness of lightness?

Moaning on the asphalt

seeing the light,

suffering from the heat,

realizing the darkness,

I laughs while I moans.

I recognized my state of existence,

indeed, nothing!

Stange, indeed, a phantom, need light, desire light, love light. Nothing must get in the way of need for light.

I travel softly not waking those asleep. Waking sleep walkers is danger. They, lost in a dream world, carry out fight without realization. They stand in the mist of imperceptible flowing time,

while I shifts with its nodes.

Am? I was, perhaps shall be again,

float with the current, for its irresistibility.

Irresponsible. Oh, I leap to agree with thou.

I could have ring the bell,

but, yes, fearing, hesitating, eventually yield.

How could a nonsexist phantom be stigmatized.

Responsibility rests upon recognition, and, yes, how many of us refuse to recognize ourselves?

Why? to fit in. Why? to be safe. And yet? Why?

I, snarling in incompatible notions,

was, indeed, a coward. Maybe fallacious, but, indeed, thou can’t prove me right nor wrong.

An assumption is made. I, like other, was visible.

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