Inescapable Truths

Drowning out,
that internal engine,
that hums with malcontent,

not with chaos,

but silence.

What will I say now?

Without the unacknowledged roar,

of my upturned soul?

I don't even believe,

in the struggle anymore.

It's validity,

it's righteousness,

or purpose.

It's a perfunctory shell,

cast upon the shore.

Grey calcium remnants,

of some poor creatures old home,

who was,
probably eaten up,

by some other wretch of the depths.

It's the unanswered challenge that haunts me.

To be free,

not as a matter of principal or action,

but to remain at all times,

simply an ideal.

A piece of vocabulary.

A word etched,

either on an arm,

or in a mind.

The hardest part isn't doing,
those unfathomable things.

The hardest part,
is loosing the purpose,

in the crushing monotony
that follows.

Real or not, 

there was a faith,

in those vaulted idealizations.
In pen and ink,

that sent my cries into a universe that cared.

Surprise.

I am the universe. 

I am the tear that falls.
And the heart that recives it.
The child that weaps.
And the mother that calms it.

All these things.
Seen and experinced,
felt and shared,
nothing but,
rancorous self-importance,
to bleed out the dull-grey
and the whimper of the everyday.

My vision was a lie.

A joke.

A larf

A fad.

A fucking sham.

And it continues.

Onwards towards another rabbit-hole destiny.

Still thinking we're 'getting somewhere'

till we fall,

back into the new and familiar blackness.

Until there's no where to go.

Pining for a time, 

that makes no sense.

A time that never was,

a breath of fresh air,

outside of which is inescapable,

that which thou art.