Feeling Poetic

nothing

What are we?
What are we made of?
How did we come to be?
Why are we here?
We're nothing, mere figments of imagination. Trying our best to find who we are, and just discovering nothing.
We are nothing.
We're made of just flesh and bones.
Nothing.
We are nothing.
But really, who are we?
Why are we here?
Who made us?
Is there a reason for all of the chaos in the world?
Does it all add up to anything?