A Strange Loop in Observing Itself

I shift through carefully stored memories
Heavy with dust,
But yearning still for life.
I touch each with nostalgic need.

Have I already been forgotten?
Am I already stored away in a box,
Aching with desire for remembrance,
Molding with milked talent.

Life into death, death into...
Ah, well, it's nothing anyhow;
Its joy into trauma, luck into misfortune,
Love into hate and all the stuff in between.

But where am I?

Ignore it all,
For I am nothing but a Strange Loop;
A self-deluded self-matrixing machine
Descending into Nothing.

Windows