to whom do i serve?

who am i?
where am i going.?
i sat on this same wooden bench a fortnight ago , contemplating my existence.
this to some might sound like a satire , but to me , this is my very own sos.
i look out onto orion's belt as i stroke bits of brown wood laquerings od the bench.
as i glance down , a a dark eery ambience surrounds me , engulfs me.
the wind, rushing through my short hair.
i rest my head on my palms.
what is my purpose here?
was i sent here to preach the word of god?
was i to be a guiding light for others?
was i to make people proud?
what should i do?
i stand up , stretching my fatique arms, as i move closer to the edge of the cliff.
i am not perfect.
i am flawed in almost every way.
i love life, but what does that mean to me any more?
i love myself, but what am i , if not an empty shell containing a lost soul?
whom do i answer to?
i sit alone.
the wind blows , stronger this time. a nearby tree crackles in agony as i talk to myself.
this feeling of emptiness, it started not more than two weeks ago.
i had friends then.
now all i have is myself.
i think aloud, perhaps all i will never lose is myself.
yes that is true.
i stand now, at the very edge of the cliff.
i shout aloud , projecting my voice as far as my diaphragm could ,
out far past the amber lights of the nearby town in the valley.
" I serve me!"
this i say as i take a step forward.
the blows now strong as ever.
the old wooden bench tumbled over in the might of the gush.
ah the rush of the wind
the rush of the mind.
my last thoughts as i dove down to earth.