There is no pause.
No stopping to rest.
It should be insatiable.
This hunger.

There are too many questions and not enough answers.
Where is the exit for the Devils Kettle? What is the hum? Gravity? Death? How can light act as matter? Is the ****** cat dead or alive?

All my life, I've asked of you to tell me something true.
Dearest brain I beg and plead, whatever shall I do?

Do I dare to trust of you, this construct you created?
Leaving out the answers so my questions are abated.

Life is indeed a symphony of terrors in the night.
A dream within a dream where there is no wrong or right.

We live an illusion and illustration if you will.
There is no magic looking glass no red no blue pill.

Senses perpetuated by a mind left unhinged.
Realities so obtuse by nature, make us want to cringe.

I ask of you, my brain, of sloppy grayish matter.
Will I ever know the truth? Before my ashes scatter?