Just Maybe

Resuming the place of all the unwanted, sizzling like that which you need and want; there is no better unseen or unjust. A clash rises, over and deliberately brings all down, ceasing the very pleasure of life; beginning the beauty of self destruction. Here there everywhere, no point. The conscious keeps all going, yet the unconscious yearns for the end. Is this the dream sought out and abruptly awoke? In the slightest the idea trivial, do not believe. The atrium, the ventricle, twisted, contorted; platonic in what in what it feels: Gives Up. The line goes flat, and continues on, never knowing the existence of the being who made up the very idea, it just goes on and on. Maybe it’s not real, or just maybe thee that writes this is crazy. It’s all the same in the since that everything never existed being that everything is bound to disappear. Sadly there is no hope in filling the void that instills these thoughts, encroaching on thy sanity; leaving thee bewildered, merely to muse. Words have no meaning as meaning has no meaning, just the same for what we think and do. Lacerations of judgment, infected with grief, slowly disorient what has come to be. Lethal actions help one into a oblivion, like humpty; not so easy to put together. Always considered a puzzle never the less, the feeling makes due. There will never be the ideal, keen with the craving needed, no surprise.
Yet a bit of reluctance.