I am spiraling towards my inevitable demise,
a testament to my own mortality,
And as I make this journey,
I lunge and scream, desperate,
clinging on at what fabric of reality gives grip,
where lies answers that I seek,
The meaning behind this.

Yet lonely,
I betray myself.
to leave the journey's path for that,
which feels so true,
Yet beyond this feeling,
I am lost at what to do.

the journey is art,
to conclude.
each action a stroke,
each thought a muse,
and
with divine contrivance,
our piece is due.
(7:46 AM)