Am I? Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

Judgement, sorrow, tears
visions of life mocking understanding
within a constant, withdrawn, and unfocused
pair of eyes; everything straining to understand
nothing, an existence pondering, whatever it is
that is wondering as IAM wandering around
doing absolutely nothing except pandering
the profundity of some snippet of sanity
knowing time knows nothing of struggle
is filled with nothing allowed out, as all
singles and seniors and signal rings oust
that ounce of Proust, or Freud, or Engels
or any others espousing the sass of being
better than narrow-minded nothings, one
point within maybe, that answers the brunt
of that question better than; flooded minds do
minds that should not be, judging me, for the worth
within the words I bleed, asking me to figure out
that word; one better than nothing, that single
curved, misunderstood question, of AM I?