The Ordeal Of Albert Camus
I repudiate the claim
Of what I am supposed to be.
I negate all the reasons
That you can throw at me.
I try to seek who I am;
But all the hows and whys
Cannot define my form.
On existentialism and nihilism
While the drunken masses feed,
There's no respite from my grief.
But in the end it's only nothingness
That gives me relief.
So nights I prowl the empty streets,
Trudge sidewalks paved with blood.
Empty thoughts, empty deeds,
Too many shadows on the wall...
Too many empty promises to keep.
The pen it loathes my obscure verse,
Meaningless scratches on scrolls.
And it all boils down to nothing at all.