coming to terms with what I have done

Guilt as ridden as a self proposed intersection of bad decisions laced with good intentions.  At one point I thought it was natural,  at one point I thought it was divine but at each and every nexus I found out it could be so wrong it felt like it outweighed the right. 

Give unto me some sort of serenity that a rhyme could not save from being interjected by some sort of reason for it to be untrue.  what can I tell you?  That it in fact was not real,  or at least it was very real.  Probably as blunt and as real as it gets,  so real it scares us into a deep hibernation of snow and fear. 

You are bold enough to face that fear while I on the other hand cower in the palm of nature,  so then what can I tell you?  That it was a byproduct of anger?
 our teeth clashing and squeezed fabric gnashing at the seams of my knuckles,

 pulling onto something brings me around to so fond a memory of the greatest trauma of being clawed and ripped from the mother of all feminine beauty and the natural succession of seasons and perpetuation of the continuation of the moods and feelings of gaia. 

Oh how the art speaks true to the original creator the one who found that 2 dimensional plane riddled with 3 dimensional characters.  He who scratched the surface and broke the picture plane with one destructive indulgent but incredibly keen stroke of destruction widdling down the surface of the chalky residual tower leaving its fine film stretched and flowing in a frozen paste upon the lifeless rock.  It is lifeless but it can move,  it can't talk but it can hum and resonate,  it cannot eat but it can consume and grow,  it cannot feel but it can be scarred and ravaged,  it cannot see but it can know the light of day,  it communicates not through procreation but through regeneration through the residual waves of time.  Give it time and the markings etched across it's face will one day sing of the same artistic expression of the many valleys and peaks of erosion. 

But there is always that guilt that what I thought was beautiful creation and regeneration is in fact complete annihilation and destruction for another.  This we cannot change,  this we cannot control, there is only so much, so much you can do we can do anything in our box but leave, we can do anything outside the box but have control it has no whim no feel no light no real no trees no cars no sound but bars no flight no cries no lies no skies it has nothing outside of it.  this cage of laws, of thermodynamics.  You don't want to think about this because you think that one certain combination of good deeds will get you out,  but I'll tell you purity is within the eyes of the beholder.  An ego is all you have to becoming an individual,  you can drop it all you can and it will come flying back up again,  sky high for a sigh once again we wave goodbye to the end of the story of pertinent purpose within a meaning of a self ridden half begotten way to end all ways for the next episode on how to create an existence in 7 days.

Were our lives just all a countdown?

7
6
5
4
3
2
1

ignition.


next stop


 eternity


What sounds appealing is what ends up being our greatest optimism as if meaning and purpose were a day spent shoe shopping or browsing the grass for the best tasting vegetation.  Do you want to be judged?  Than be judged! do you want to be god? than be god! do you want the rest of your existence to be an endless cycle of orgasms?  Than you will be the eternally functioning self propelling masturbator.  Endless energy,  endless pleasure,  endless dance,  endless joy,  tickling the greatest nerve in your body until your internal clock breaks and your cd skips and plays over and over again.  Everyones ideal heaven is somewhere where they don't have to serve anybody,  the American dream is obesity. 

Wouldn't it be hell if everything you wanted to happen happened and you could never stop changing your mind?

Somebody decide for me,  apparently I can't make any good decisions anymore. 

Last words?  FIRE!!!!