A headache that
knocks, knocks, knocks
While fingers, are closer and farther, with black dots dots dots

There is no rhythm for a universe to rule, but
Humans pretend; saying chaos is over, done, the lines we cannot cross, are completely white, let these erase all objection.

The tips waver on the light
Touch, touch, touch
As they turn to face my
Eyes, eyes, eyes

Then
Remove one key to the stability and see men flounder
Pressure from the change, defining a stressor, which
Accelerates into a dip;

A free fall
And from this fall man finds solution -

"Gouge out creation, and or the visage.
Self mutilation seems better to be fit
Then to carry such hideous, black, venom
Which is the root, to which man unlocks
What he himself is."

The shutter stock effect leaves me without
Emotion
My own touch causes me to
Recoil, recoil, recoil

Now that man is without fingers,
He has no worries, the dreaded darkness,
Which plagued his poor, unprotected fingers, are gone, as both are severed.
Now he is truly stable.

.
.
.
What have you done?
Nothing at all
Sitting here, as the time
Passes; as a candle
Flickering
Out.

What will you do?
Well at four in the morning
There is not a lot.
Except the cold
And the enclosing
Dark.

Why did you do this?
Well can that be said?
Honestly, and bluntly,
Straight out would the
Answer stick?

It would become lodged.
Because words unravel mysterious
And mean nothing all at the same time.

Who am I?
What a pertentious question to ask.
You have no right to ask,
Nor mind to conceive it.

What am I meant for?
Well to live and to die.
Make an impact on someones life,
Good or bad, time has no universal code.

What am I doing?
Looking for an answer
To a question I have about people,
And also about me.

Should you lean upon a crutch?
What if you are a crutch yourself?
What if someone took you away?
What if you merely were a crutch to a table?
How awful really.

But what is the matter? You've found it!
A place for yourself.
You see, you do not matter.
A crutch, a dime a dozen so cheap.

That is what you get from lack of sleep I guess, and lack of meaning I guess, and lack of health I guess.
A crutch that wanders, looking for what it means to be independent or leaned on, and if it is truly a curse or a blessing.

How silly is this anaology?
I think it is downright clear.
But I am a rambling madman
With an end soon near.

As soon I will be gone, this consious shed.
I will wake up this morning, tired in bed.
I will reach my hands and feel a change.
I will no longer feel; it is quite strange.

And I wish I could say I did resist,
But I did not.
For the immoral base upon my kingdom,
Is founded upon my thoughts
And actions of sin.

I laugh and I laugh and I laugh.
How little will do I have?
I am just a piece of dust,
Moved by the slightest wind
Of dismay.
.
.
.

with a door set forth
it lay open in his mind
with his hand he waited
it never opened to his eyes

fantasy rules in our heads
when inaction enforces tyranny
upon mortal hearts and souls
dying with every blink

we are just mortal yes?
why do we think actions will fail
when no one will remeber them
they fade as everything does

Live life to breath
And breath to live
My the devil take his hand
From out of my scarmbled brain

So I may choose
With a new foucus to fuel me
I will not be bogged down
By my missed opportunities

all because I am blind
to everything real in front of me
i was living in my head
never outside it

for it was safe...
it was...

Even the sun
Dripping with fire
Slowly dips
Until there is no more
Light
The moon is but a reflection
and with retraction of waves
The skies pulls inward
Dotted with past
corpses
But one did outshine them all
And it does everyday
But as he missed the moon
He touched the stars
And it hurt
To be reminded
of their state of being
Trapped in a shell
In a single sky
Only watched by one
Blind fool

Just when I forget
Pushing it from vision
I see a picture

Perfectly
framed

it was a lie
I let myself go on
and on and on and on
and I can't stop it
without a true answer
what is there?
or was?
will?


what was will
never be
again
but continue
the horrifying cycle