Who am I?

Who am I?
It is something that peels me.
Am I wrong though?
Every other thing just heals me.

Why search for other though?
When we know it’s going to cause frost.
Someone asked for directions to other
Simply said, I am just good at getting lost.

What you are, the world is.
It is full of Buddhas.
Kill him, if seen in the road.
Who am I, is maybe in the future.

How can you know I?
When you swear with myths to speak the ultimate truth.
Why not cement it with religions?
When I have still got my youths.

Gods, please let them be.
I, a fool, want some sway.
But reality and reports,
It’s always the reality that has to give way.

How can I know me?
The question just makes us sluggish.
Dreaming about Cinderella and Prince Charming,
As we dispute whose turn it is to take out the rubbish.

The happiness and positivity is me.
Also, the vibrancy and the pleasure.
My own sunshine, oh you queen.
I am the prince and my very own treasure.

Hell with that, every sorrow I feel,
Encounter to the insignificance of my being.
Pain that comes with honesty, problem with empathy.
The every form of pain, may I think so, is me.

But in the universe, so infinite, so cold, so chaotic,
Why does it matter, “Who is me?”.
Started and ended at an infinite point,
The void, the darkness, the nothingness,
Truth of what is,
The awareness of the point without choice/condemnation
Might just be my being.