Just push onward,
like mistakes occuring without reason.
Entanglements compromise,
as motions adjust
to the next exemption.

Flaws arise,
but don't dictate indefinite behavior.
Mistakes to follow or allow,
as compromise is compromised.

Such an indulgence on
self reflection.
Taken and grafted like
webs to graft onwards.

Just a mid-line
walking across the segment.
It's not like much'll change...
Just different forms of similarity.

I wouldn't trade my own mistakes at all....
Just the forms holding me prisoner.
I wouldn't,
just get up again.

Just pour it out and let it surmise,
like some being with purpose to define.
It's not like it'll change much,
but the expression varies
the personal touch.

It came, it lofts, it synchronizes,
it regrets.
It'll soon be over.
Lights are coming.

They caress, they tighten,
they fool.
The whole is not complete.
It takes itself down,
and insignificance follows.

It's not like it'll let it wallow.
It's just a story after all,
told in different ways.
Over and over again.

There's not much left to say,
but whatever's to be said next.
The perplexities of life's agenda,
always moving forward.

No course.

Just distance.

Forever.

Moving...

Onward

It claims its victims,
one bite at a time.
Puncturing their veins,
******* out their inspirations.

They're dead,
and wondering the streets,
in search of things
long forgotten.

It's as plain as day,
as grey as old age.
It's an age old philosophy,
never to decay.

It prevails,
but nothing truly changes.
It stands tall,
but only handfuls see it.

Holding onto nothing,
life is suffering.
So it has been,
so it always will be.

If chosen to change
the landscape of an eon,
then eternity is nothing
but a miniscule point.

I am nothing...
So it has been,
so it always will be.

I've awakened to grey themes,
they cling to me.
I am myself again,
but nowhere near.

I am myself again,
as if death had life to give.
An offering at best,
and crippling the gift.

It bends, it burns,
it dies.
It's held in so tight,
just let it die.

It builds, it floods,
it's empty.
Spewing out the same nonsense
from so long ago.

Eclipsed by the blood,
blackened by the stares.
Dead death blooms,
lingering a hollow consciousness.