Attn: spacetime complaints department

A brief history of time I own. I meddle with it, I occupy the space. I use the space and time, right now. It's mine, I think, I hope. I cling to it, for time will soon run out. I'll soon fall out forever into reality's dark complement. An icy fiery crush of expanding antimatter will be my only home, they say. I fear the yet unknown.

"This time is mine!", I scream in silence. The ticking clocks lose seconds, seconds tick. "Short lived those seconds' lives must be", I wonder. They fade out silently, there is no thunder. Accomplished lives those seconds couldn't have, for they exist in fractions of my time, and now they're gone.

I ponder. On yet another larger scale, my second's now. Can't see the now, it's hidden and it's alive.

But wait a minute. Am I a tick in my machine? Am I a tiny piece of matter thrown in space and whirling fast at supersonic speeds through endless fields of void? Where is my thunder, where is my essence?

I'm partially made of matter, but do I matter? My soul screams out from my neuronal machine, it wants to exit out and float in freedom! It wants to live and mingle in the social space of memes!

My soul is stuck, it hints... My flimsy capsule is all I've got, and I don't matter much, I'm out of luck.

Am I my soul, my space, my time?

Oh beauty of unknown worldly facts, which seldom are brought forth and soothe the soul! I know you're there, I wait for you in silence. My eyes are my inquisitive tool, which bring the world into my head. They can't stop scanning, they want the world.

I hardly fall asleep, I'm restless and I suffer. My second's almost up. No singularity will save us now. The mission's almost clear: suffer away, and ponder endlessly, for that's the underlying purpose.

I look up,
The truth is burning,
I wonder.