Empty Hands

I often wonder, if celestial hands were to reach out to me, would I interlock my fingers with theirs? Or would I do as I always do, and mimic the souls around me? Turning a blind eye, holding the hands of logic instead. But as I empty my hands of all reason, and all logic, what is left?

Is there reality? Is there fiction? Or is there just empty space, that manipulates us, consumes us? Molds us into what we’re supposed to be.

I have chosen to ignore my thoughts. Let lunacy take control. Maybe I will lose my mind, or find my purpose.

Lost in a world where only power seems to matter. But found in a universe where only I myself matter. Is this freedom? Is this what it means to give up control? My options seem limited, my mind directionless, irrational. It seems I would rather be erased, than stay here,

With empty hands.