Some poetry from one of those pesky existential crises:

Fault of Empathy

Could you ever see what I see?
If I put your eyes inside my head,
Perhaps I'd see bitter instead of red.
There are no echoes for sight, visions will never stay the same
So how does one claim that their physical nature is truth,
When your reality is only really a collection of light?
PERCEPTION . . . not just a question
About your state of being
or if what you're seeing is real, but how.
How is now the question of your own connection
to all that's around you, the effect of that blue which
hides in the sky's reflection.
Does it actually touch where your feelings and such reside?
And when it makes that impression, can you honestly say that you've felt exactly that way before?
What more, have you tried to remember every way you've felt while seeing that blue upon prior inspection?
As those recollections fade, we create new inventions of understanding, it's how we grow.
Can you ever know what I know?