You speak of change constantly.
Like Flux capacitors are sold in stores.
Trying to mend past and future selves.
Trusting that they might collide on a single scope.
And STOP.
Is this pleasing.
Easing into planned mediocrity.
Dancing to tunes with broken strings.
Laughing at hardship.
Hoping it's seen as resilience.
Then wake to cold sweat in the night.
Running from a dreamscape.
To escape.
But still commemorate thought.
Making the real.
Less.
Than..
...
I step on forgotten land mines.
In my mind.
Creating a backdraft of emotion.
Spent years putting out these flames.
And even longer letting the brush burn.
Is control then the illusion.
Or am I just.
Constantly.
Waking.

A smile can mean so many different things.
Or mean something and then add a twist at the end.
To prove no one really understands the maelstrom that resides within.
being a unique snow flake still means one of a kind.
and these 4 walls as friends is getting too loud.
each direction is a new black hole to search for insanity.
it wasn't always like this.
they got darker with every sentence scrawled from broken and ****** fingers.
the scent still lingers the darkest places but having learned to evade some treacherous acts.
even if its only from walking into it dumbfounded so many times.
it seems like repetition is the theme branded on this life.
sadly there is no limit to failure.
or pain.
and all the pleasantries are so finite.
its hard not to ask the question.
but stupid is.
as stupid ******* does.
so may the next land mine be the last.
for punishment is the only gluttonous act to truly gorge.
it will get much worse, this fate can attest to.
so should this smile fade before then.
will the dark be everlasting.

Everything is made from everything else.
The deep oceans of the iris.
To the integration of speech.
It all circles around the finite life people lead.
Regardless of what the self made kings and gods through the ages proclaimed.
Their ashes litter the same earth as the peasants that washed their ignorant feet.
There was no shinigami awaiting to return them to their kingdom.
All that stood before them as the last breathe was drawn were those same peasants.
Waiting for the last rites to be given so the fresh corpse could be taken to rot in a tomb.
Some shallow grave that was neither glorious nor spectacular.
The only thing it accomplished was cementing the cold fact that this life is it.
No bells or horns to guide the spirit.
No animal to hint at something greater.
Just a box.
With a pillow to ensure maximum comfort.
So when the decomposition sets in.
At least the box was pretty.
Pointless.
From one ignorant being to the rest.
Mayday.
Clear the predicted crash site.
And wait.
There will be limbs to collect.
Maybe for once.
All the pieces will be salvaged.
Not likely though.

The line between opponents.
Drawn in blood.
Stale.
From centuries of spilled tension.
Its a tug of war.
With no spoils.
There is no obvious winner.
Just statistics of lost resources.
From the moment a baby leaves the womb.
Is there just another tally.
A collection of numbers that hold 'value'.
then somewhere along the way this becomes more of an aproximation.
Regardless of who is scoring.
Each red slash mitigates emotion and truth.
And the blurry line gets forgotten all together.
Given time and an abundance of falacies can one begin to entertain any thought.
And once logic gives way to the beast created.
Will any action become malicious in nature.
Regardless of whom the teeth doth shred.

Always just seems to encompass so little now a days. like forced nevers that started out strong but ended up limping out the mouth. making every time after falling short of the finish line, crutchless and wounded. turning the next encounter to reruns that have burned itself into view of the latter. Passively predicting the loop but doing little to alter the fateless. because popcorn needs to eaten just as shows are made to be watched. we are all tuned to the same channel, just in different brightness settings. then given the option to search for the remote control that will remain absent. we're told that the search will bare  the fruit desired. and even though it is common knowledge now as to where the path leads and ends. for it was thine own ****** hand that placed the final stone. a ******* in the making. for the only other word to describe such behavior Is insanity. whether it is a question or a statement is beyond the threshold of what im willing to spend time thinking about. even though my thought process is rarely my own and i wouldnt really call us friends either. for if my thoughts betray me why would i give others a privileged that i am not qualified to give away. was there a day in my in my redacted childhood that wont raise its hand when i do roll call. one that warned me, trained me even to Not react but preemptively parry the blows that i would soon take full force. Pretending that its the smoke caressing and constricting the lungs and not the constant sucker punch to the only blind spot left. at this point, neglect works just as well as chasing an unattainable figment. that in my opinion. is far too real and even less tangible.

The world.
Is.
Smaller now.
Regardless of how insignificant a life is.
The grand scheme means little.
Is it ignorance..
Or acceptance.
That perpetuates the question.
For those wise enough to answer.
Is the same as those wise enough to not.
This prison of cycles.
Rotates and regulates.
The quality of living shifts gears to auto pilot.
And the low rumble of marching is heard.
In the distance.
As it always is.
Comes chaos.
Pain at its heels.
The weary shall never rest.
Nor should it surprise..

The ache begins where it left off.
Time to search the forest of wounds this body has amassed.
As they are looked upon.
Some meager.
Others.
Still flow from that distant beating.  
Does recounting them seem.
frivolous.
Yet the task goes on regardless of want.
A lasting tenacity.
Encumbered by every last choice made.
As this chest takes in breath.
Does regret put that jagged dagger straight to the jugular.
Crying out would make no difference.
Time has made that so.
A vow kept sacred.
For deterioration has stayed true to its words.
So must I make good on mine...
Or embrace the lasting corrosion that living so lovingly bestowed.
If only.
Time was a friend.
Then deciding wouldn't seem so..
Final.

A catalyst.
One who blurs the lines.
Between.
All and everything.
What is there left to defend.
Wandering the battlefield.
Bare chested.
Awaiting the next barrage.
What else is there to do.
But keep stumbling forward.
Even after all the blood escapes the body.
Punishment is a prerequisite.
For not a soul can say they traversed this realm.
Unscathed.
Watching as the horror breaks proximity.
Yielding at the last moment.
To let the decimation.
pass on by.
In smoldering ash.
Does one grin.
Regretfully so.

There are so many different ways to describe.
Things.
Yet there are so many..
That never find them.
Express them.
An abundant ocean of withheld apologies.
Silent screams.
If emotions could ****.
The streets would run black.
Darker than any night the world has yet to see.
And those left to witness this verbal massacre.
Stand as their tombstones.
A shadow of what was.
With little to say.
And not an inch of explanation.
So this tango of tenaciousness ensues.
Flailing about.
Wanting.
Wishing.
Accepting..
How useless.
Meager.
To think that at any given moment.
The answer would come.
So the questions continue thus.
Like any other day.
The only difference.
Is that the disappointment of not knowing the question.
has left.