why the hell are we here

do I care am I mad? am I happy? how can I be anything? with the ever expanding universe pulling and stretching till it breaks, snaps into two like a paper plate crushed under a shoe is it me or is it you? one of us is the center are you real or am I? death may be the mender of all are confusion but no one lives to tell the story of a human life's conclusion left in allusion of a god or a meaning but no one can explain why a single human was ever made the only life I'll ever live is mine but with time, will I realize that's a lie? who knows, and who cares most are to busy to think that there existence is so disturbingly unique