I know that I am insignificant, and that entropy is a universal driving force, so death must come for me at some point. Logically, I know that my life is a finite value in infinite time, I am young but soon I will be old and then I will be dead. And this death, no matter how painful and long will end my consciousness, and all my contemplation and existence will not matter because I will be gone, as if I had never existed at all. But the same organ which has logically reasoned all this to be true, still cannot accept it. The more I think about it the more fear I feel, and the more important it seems to become. So many people accept illogical beliefs, or do not think towards the future, and they seem happy and normal for the most part. This poem is about how I yearn to think differently, and like most things, is just a meaningless struggle against forces we cannot begin to understand or change.