Having Philosophized Away the Ground Beneath

Having philosophized away the ground beneath
I am lost sliding in and out of these shells
Like infinite matrushkas, the worlds contain themselves,
referring each other in an eternal symbolic dance.

I laugh and do not know who did or why
my trains of thoughts sputter randomly
exhaust themselves like untied balloons

Unpeeling the onion of attachments
Weary of the world I made to suit myself
Thousands of explosions shatter the story of me, a thing apart
All meaning made up, how can making more bring truth?