I go through the motions.
Each step I realize a bit of what everyone has already figured out billions of times over.
Each big interval in life, each trudge up the steps.
One after the other.
Connecting, dot to dot to dot to dot.
And for what?
To finish a painting with no end.
Maybe it completes itself at the very precipice of death.
But by then what is the point of its existence.
The fleeting beauty of a singular moment at the very end when it all clicks into place.
I've seen a thousand sun sets each a different form and hue.
I'm familiar with fleeting beauty and it doesn't serve a thing.
With all life has to offer why am I left hollow and wanting.
Will this biological nightmare ever end.
The sentience of swirling sticky chemicals is trick played on us all.

it seems ridiculous
to me
that
it does not matter
in spite
of what is
clearly
logically
and undeniably
the truth

just because
a mistake
was not
challenged
or
corrected
until now;
should not mean
we are forced
to accept
the hindrance
of this idiocy
and what it means
for
our future

I never existed. You know, I never did.
It was all an elaborate illusion.
I have been told to play. No, I had no intention of robbing you of your emotions or perception. I just wanted to find myself.
I realised this so-called universe couldn’t provide me with meaning or perhaps it had none to offer, so I made up characters for every one of them I met, and yet I failed miserably to know myself. Fear of not understanding myself consumed me into nothingness.
 
“I'm tied to the rocking chair.
I don't need to be ******* cared for.
They said my dumb stars weren't aligned. Even those Scripted Zodiac stones won't get it right.”
 
Every time someone came along, I put up a new character, a charade to please their needs in the hope of finding myself, but I never did every single time I couldn't understand why
What lines did I miss or the script didn't work?
series of phobias bombarded my surroundings, making me speak gibberish.

My half-baked memories aren’t mine; different personas tangled within one, saying love isn't our thing, hate, jealousy, why do you need such things?
Emotions are a burden, a limitation on brains.
For centuries, nut-sized cytomegaloviruses have argued over fictitious beings.
I don't find sense in these trivial things.

©sarcasticbong
 
Either I can go to sleep or I accept myself as part of this illusion.

21/11/3

the grass on the hill
speaks nothing until
our ears open with age
and the demons dark will
loses meaning

the soft melody
of piece sends a thrill
to the harbor of will
and causes a self
into being

action a skill learned
from birth to grave
we pay not attention
to continous pain
and we travel

he may say
all is forgiven
but that does not
mean he should
be held to it

these days it means
about as much
as when he says
"i'm fine"

I have never felt a love like this
I've never smelled a love like ****
I have brought my meaning up a bit
I've been cleaning up your ****

kennel love break your heart?
chained to a fence with no open part
trapped within my stupid walls
I'll be there when cupid calls

it could be a sign;
that the ring
didn't fit easily
on the finger
effort was needed
it had to be forced
or it could
just be temporary
joint effusion
perhaps an unexpected
weight fluctuation
meaning nothing
yet i'll assign significance
to fit the narrative
feed anxieties
and support
a predetermined belief