In the End its all over there is nothing left to give. I am exhausted and past tired, the mailstrom of worry and self hatred fill every corner of the recessess of my mind.
Until I have run as far as I can go and I have run clear out of time. I run to forget to escape the invitable end.
I run for sanity for it seems only there it is my friend.
For the insanity bred deep in a dark pitiful hole, that darkest of places of frivoulous laces of decadant traces and misplaced faces.
The Whole entirety of my tired identy left with affinity and bleeds for my serenity.
Yet its the End and I see no way out. The beatings continue no matter how loud I shout.
The riots break down and shatter the glass it takes all I am, all I have to surpass.
This endless feeling this utter defeat, I am lost I am sickend but still I dig deep.
To a nothingness that surronds me to the nothingness that was, there is nothing inside me not sure there ever was.
I am empty and lost, why am I this way?
There must be something more some point that I missed.
I must be finding the point in all of this.
Searching forever for an end to all that never comes. Why can’t I see the end is always the beginning and the beginning an end.
I am filled with emptiness yet my hefty thoughts burden my eternal residence. Of misplaced worry and unworthy desire.
If I am real and 99 percent of me is empty space then 1 percent does make a difference it’s the 1 percent that holds me in place.
So what is it? What is the 1 percent? What is the physical expression of a physical dimension?
Its dirt and its sweat. Its blood and its tears, the ingredients are similar through all of the years stars and atoms made of all the same.
Created, manifested, placed in such a way.
Dispersed through the Universe from End to End.
1 percent difference between Now
I don’t know either just writing lines.