What makes me alive?
Is it my ability to see?
Is it the fact I can perceive?
Or my own reflection on me?

I experience the world around me,
But to be literal,
I experience the world within me,
My mind constructs the world my eyes see,
My brain connects the senses and build reality,
It's apparent in its volatility.

At times I feel the walls caving in,
Others I feel that I could lift the ceiling,
Did the world change or just my mind and reality,
Anguish, joy, delight, and jealousy,
Describe these to me in atoms and anatomy.

My birth only paused infinity,
My death continues the same continuity.
What is this world without me?
Does my experience create reality?
My finality concludes all and everything.