I am not an intellect
nor am I a savant.

A perpetual and eternal seeker, an intrigued observer if you will.

No longer searching for rational explanations amongst the cosmos, no external modus operandi,
none whatsoever.

Gratefully cognizant,
I am, of the personally attained enlightenment
permeating throughout my being, though, under no circumstance shall I deem existence as being the cherished paragon which is so blatantly strewn throughout the benign amicability of such fabricated fables for which society, oh so, lackadaisically prescribes.

Quite parallel to those who’ve consciously abolished the utter self-delusionment that reality’s illusory plight thoughtlessly provokes I, we, remain within an amalgamation of idiocy, chaos, maelstrom, and fantasy.

Plummeting into the vOiD,
enveloped by perfect nothingness,
I bellowed out to the elegant cosmos, intimately embracing oblivion.

Existing, one with the cosmos, an absurd span of relentlessness, the equilibrium state is death yet, the problem not being suffering in itself or oblivion, the depraved meaninglessness of these things, the sheer inhuman nihilism of suffering.

🕳

cerebral particles emanate as dreams vaporize, vile creatures roam untethered, a blinding flicker, the world crumbles.
firmly committed beliefs diminish into oblivion as the absence of hope provokes unprecedented forlornness, setting in motion a societal restructuring into mass hysteria and perpetual insanity. The end precedes anew, humanity falls silent,
as nefarious roisterings echo amidst the surroundings.

They idolized my deep seeded melancholia
claiming it graceful and unique

it was neither of those qualities however

subtly  existing was a despairing emptiness within the deepest depths of human consciousness,

someone whom ought not be idolized in the slightest

born in disorder
heart in unrest
instability within my soul
with chaos for bones.

if the anguish ensconced within my heart alongside the distress infused in my soul were translated upon my skin
you wouldn’t recognize me..
.. as broken as I am

🕳

Nihilism, for me, is pure liberation.
The realization of nothing possessing the slightest bit of significance is ultimately freeing.
All is chaos.
Nothing is meant to be.
My beliefs in irrelevant unknowns resulted in sheer despair for, when the unanticipated occurred, continuously I gravitated toward discouragement.
I yearned to believe in something, but deep within I sensed the illogical. 
The entirety of human consciousness is but self-deceptive illusions.
Society deems faith as an aspect which shapes humanity however,
I have transcended humanity as to free myself from the wretchedness of existences absurdity, Intimately embracing the vOiD has ultimately freed me from my inner darknesses, allowing me to adopt them with complete sincerity.

Infinitely,

I am,

and shall remain,

a supersonic, suicidal, schizophrenic, enigma.


and this....



... is the reality of my existence.

There exists a disturbance few are conscious of concerning the world while asleep.
The wind inconspicuously whispers through your window, stealing the secrets concealed within you.
What is it whispering?
What exists possessing the potential in inducing utter chaos within the treetops aside from the suppressed words you dare not disclose?
and considering it occurs during the vulnerable state of sleep, where secrets are easy to take, tis’ not surprising in the slightest that the ones restraining the deepest of secrets are indeed, the ones who are kept wide awake.

As evening shaped, she found herself broken to the core. Which sight could bear sustain,
the blackened land of a featureless contour
was like a tract in pain. 

This scene, like her own life, is one 
where many glooms reside; 
toned by its misfortune to a deadly numb..
..emptiness on every side. 

She glanced aloft and halted, pleasureless
to see the contrast there as the rayless clouds seemed unaware, for there exists no solace anywhere.

The merciless self-loathing consumes as she stood. It dealt her silently as one perverse soul misrepresenting stability in graceless mutiny. 
Against the horizon's dim-descernèd dread 
she was hideous, hopeless; better off dead.