Residing peacefully at the apex of all life's twists and knots of reality lies something fathomable only to the individual will of personal  existence. What could be so completely comprehensible and yet so seemingly incoherent in it's infinite entirety? Well, destiny. The only attempt to understand any of this frivolous madness and chaos is to begin by expanding your mind with the thought that regardless of which path chosen- fate will occur.
So no worries.
Although despite the will (however strong,) of the human brain with all of it's expedential  expandable abilities, one can not always attain and/or preserve a firm grasp on attempting or achieving control. This is indubitably so, when considering the beckoning temptations of life's every day situations- gnawing at the material egos of society like a stranger offering shiny hard candy from the depths of the darkest shadow.
What must be lingering at the backs of our minds? What there lies something so dark and dank and dense that we can only pursue a vast and vague definition for recognition? I can only be swept away by the engulfing wind of nothingness, and dissolve into the abyss of eternity.
Is it graceful- to fade away without resistance or even acknowledgment or consciousness? Or is that just ignorance? The questions can only mingle with the theories, the "facts," the nothingness of everything,  rather than be answered. Because there is no solution to the unknown, and this all is still only ever just a question of existence itself.

...So where do we go from here?

Want to write my thoughts down
In a clever, beautiful way.
Poetry should be graceful.
But creation is not a guarantee.
And it shouldn't be limited to wit and ease.
Who's to say where true beauty lies-
Behind the eyes of a soulmate,
Or maybe just in a forgotten smile on a sad lonely face.
There are just so many words,
And infinite possibilities.
Need to create to keep it real.
Because, who's to say what's real?
How can we even know if anything is ever original?
That's why I have to make art-
Just to prove to at least myself that there IS something
Throughout this void of oblivion that beckons truth.
And that truth- that real art-
That's music.
My music.
I am music.
Everything- if anything exists, is only pure music.
And that's all I can bet on,
When the chips are down.
I will be singing until my last breath ceases.
And music is the only real beauty that can save my soul,
Bring me peace, and
Carry me home.

All I can think of is black.
It's dark in here, and I can't see clearly.
Smoke *****, shoot heroine, drink a 5th of tequila, smoke a dub.
And whatever else enters my path.
Take my mind out of this world.
I love you, baby, love you so much more than anyone before you.
Love, want you, want you more than a ******* flame burning my flesh!
I think about leaving you every day.
Cause it takes two people, to have a relationship.
I want you hard, passionately, violently!
Make you want me. Make your love stay.
Want to leave you, because you didn't even say you missed me.
Want to leave you, cause I can't keep falling in love, while you fall out.
A year and a month later,  10 months of unconditional intimacy,
3 years total.
Now I still explode into a million shattered pieces when your lips of
Heaven tease mine.
Bright, soft, ****, honey lips. Teasing my soul.
And you're bored, you say there's nothing left to talk about.
And it makes me feel like **** to know that my own hands
Would be in my pants before yours would.
Every day,  I think about leaving you.
Every day, think about heroine, *****, herb, tequila, tweak, pills,
Anything! Somebody **** me up with something
Cause I'm too ****** up already, to be considered
Normal.
Want to slit my wrists with every breath I take.
Bleed and scar and be ugly, broken, ****** up, strung out.
Maybe then I could get you to notice, get you to care,
That I just might leave you, baby.
Because you never loved me like an infinite sun.
I want to hold you forever, and you'd rather sleep.
You make me feel more black, than happy.

A vicious attack* of that crackling brainiac anthrax
To give back to society
Slack then just grab the heat,
Feed it to the needy who receive it thankfully.
Call it *poetry.
Who could see repressed punctuality proceeded
By the kick of a hit or three?
Gimme these retrospective variants
To a counterpoint's last stand,
Or voices
Speaking to a lost cost for freedom
That rips at the rotting veins of humanity-
I stood up for what I believed in,
But the world will too crumble when the sun's light dulls dead.
You can call this rambling for something
To take the brain-scraping ache away-
The pain of the mistaken vacant escape.
Who's to say that we're all just thrown here
To die and to try to believe in something that exists,
And if we can't find it then we're lost and wrong and
Guilty.
Leave me barely breathing  if the seeing is now ceasing
To a state of gray monotony,
And melancholy monsters creeping
Out from under the bed where my habits sleep-
And threaten with a scratch, hiss and  screetch
To
Wake
Me
*Up.