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?