Fragments

I

Inspired by not really anything except my weird mind so enjoy please. The ending is intended.

***

my world is fragmented, twirling around me like broken bits in a kaleidoscope and I'm trying to figure out how it works. amidst the darkness I'll see flashes of colour, of light, and maybe the quickest glimpse of an image and then the darkness will take me again. I'm drowning, drowning in a sea of blackness and my own mind and I can't find a metaphorical life ring to save me.
I hear words, but they're a nonsensical jumble to my ears. I see colours, but nothing that will elude me to where I am, what I'm doing here. it's like I'm being shown snapshots of this world, only I can't understand them for some unknown reason. am I dying? quite possibly. I don't feel panicked - I don't feel anything, except a vague sense of resignation to what's coming, whatever that may be. everything's just jumbled and I can't make out what the voices are saying and I can't even put a name to the colours that flash before my eyes but that doesn't matter, none of that matters because I'm probably dying, but when have any of us mattered, right? because when you consider things like the stars, our affairs don't seem to matter very much at all, and neither do our lives, and why does the universe care whether we live or die, because we're just tiny beings trying to make a living under billions of stars, but of course the universe cares, why should it not, and maybe I shouldn't asking about the universe but about god instead. who's god? why do we create stories about magical men in the sky and humans on earth doing impossible things and tell legends of inexplainable feats? they're fragments. all of them, fragments. I think the world is made of fragments, and we somehow manage to stitch then together to create a seemingly sensical place but in cruel reality we are still living in pieces and perhaps that's why the most broken of us are the most beautiful. maybe that's why while I can't see or hear, and the colours and sounds keep flashing past me, I can think, and think I will, until the end of time, or until my brain ceases to work and I cease to exist as a person. which will happen sooner than I want, because I feel it happening now, in some inexplainable way, and I don't know how much longer I have but I will make the most of my time left. how? by letting my thoughts wreak havoc across the barren landscape of my mind and the universe that has grown inside it. and so here I am with only my mind and the thoughts that are drowning me, and I can't decide whether