the death of the conversational evangelist

it seems that things always have a way of happening,
history always repeats itself.
maybe its just me, everywhere i go,
i bring along this luggage,
this negative energy,
that makes me want to do as i do.

and i saw stars and lighting flash across the sky

its not that i want to be like that.
sometimes, i'm not sure i'm given a choice.
things stick, u see.
labels stick.

and i wonder, do i even want to try?
though i may tell myself i do,
do i actually mean what i say?
or am i jus lying to myself,
trying to make myself believe that things will change,
when in fact they wont.

i think its qutie damn scary,
our whole life we're wondering if we actually exist,
and in death we wonder if we really lived.
whos to say?