Picture a sterile lab with people laughing

Chemicals are reacting

To form new things

That eat away the old.

Some things can get changed back

And be born again.

It reminds me of hibernating snakes and bears.

Do they remember life before winter?

They are alive again until the next time they are forced to fall asleep.

They usually come back again

But sometimes they don’t.

Who forgot to wake them?

It’s like dying while you dream

Sleep must have felt real

Like it was existence.

The personality gets slowly buried

By a lazy old gravedigger with a moustache but no beard.

Each night the person dies

And another one is born.

Something is drained

Something is lost each time.

Does it disintegrate in the atmosphere?

Or does it go somewhere?

If you think hard enough

And the brain hurts enough

You can remember a small piece of the chain.

How do you know it is real?