death of narrative

Death of narrative,
Or so I’ve heard,
Flooded with opinions,
Up to our necks in other’s thoughts,
Just need to spill my guts,
Forget about sorting it out,
Don’t bother finding a moral,
You live you die,
Everything else resides in between.
Always looking for an explanation,
Looking for a reason,
Expecting some kind of something,
But none can be found,
Stories are simply told,
Need to be digested,
Draw your own conclusions,
Shut up and live,
Shut off the internal critic.
Whoever told you it makes sense,
Must have had something to sell,
Life just is-nothing else,
Our minds too small to fathom,
Will we ever know ever realize,
Maybe but I’ll be long dead,
Not even a distant memory,
Nothing inherently wrong with that,
Brought forth from the void only to go back.
This is my story,
For what its worth,
This is what I have seen,
This is what I have done,
These are my supramundane thoughts,
This is the essence of what I call me,
Not that much different from you,
Despite the games we play,
And the boundaries we place.
I leave it to someone else to analyze,
To deconstruct and rip apart,
No good no bad,
Just this and nothing else,
Blessed to be in human form,
Even if for only a moment,
Just an instant just a flash,
Beginnings and endings entwined,
The now echoing into endless time.