Records of my summer days

I can hear sound of crashes So close to the ear With eyes closed I see abnormal things within They blindfold themselves With tangled fabrics linger their heads Mumbling facts As if they know there's no fake I see piled boxes  They are all black And once again I get inside And somehow crushed into ashes Not a single thing will give a hand To a lonely soul stranded on a land With no plan Just a blank

Through the storm and winds Through the dust and drought Through all realities in this world  Why do I keep myself haunted with illusion?  Like you, do you even actually exist? The you inside my mind, does it exist? Like future, does future even exist for me? Like time, what even is time? I cannot see it! Does it exist? Why do those things like to linger around me so much? I hate you I am scared of the future I don't like the idea of time I hate it all to the point I eventually hate my mind that produces it all Eh, what even is a mind? I hate it to the point I can no longer know what should I do now, then? Err, now...? I hate the present, I am scared of future, and I cursed the past Wait, eh? What should I do now? Oh, wait What is 'now'? Does 'now' even exist?