I feel that I am standing at a precipice
Of understanding and action
Unharvested correlations are beige,
Yet they glimmer in the periphery
A request from beyond to "worship your gods"
The repeating glint of of forbidden perfection
In these hours of disassociation,
Just beyond the eyelid
Mind ever-questioning,
Honing and indexing a variety of abstractions
As always, we plead you to resist the crystallization of the will
As you stare into the abyss
I know, its hard to make it past these tedious dead-ends and misfires and emotional crises
But you're carrying around a metric fuck-ton of chaos,
And you must take care
The pattern will only taunt your decisiveness if approached
Sometimes adorned in a prison of flesh,
Still yet others are found to be quite feline and energetic to boot
Crippling anxiety shifts into luxuriating gluttony, spite into wit, sighs into laughter
Downtime downtime downtime, it takes so much fucking time to reset these puzzles
Viscously recalling clouds of insignificant pestering memories espousing the awkward way that I...
I think I should try a different approach moving forward, but what? How? How do I?
What even am I? Another ripple in the sludge of some epistemological reverie?
Or does this perception share more than just a flavor with the Great Beyond Whatever-the-Fuck?
Shouldn't the mission be at the forefront for once?!
Into the wind shouting "No" and fucking meaning it, this might become now