It’s senseless, isn’t it?
Chasing stars like this. A malevolent race of blood and starlight, dust and galaxy, radiance amid vespertine. The vulnerabilities I partake with reproachful glances and consternated sighs, as another concatenation languishes itself woefully from my tremulous velvet palms. All the unnecessary perplexities. Chatoyant winks. Recrudescent idiosyncrasies. Pyrrhic viciousness. It’s almost maddening, like pulling at a switch to turn on the dark. The desuetude of prayer, the imbrication of penitence against sin, the self-sustaining cycles of ultracrepidarianism against the gallimaufry voices, ridden with febricula and rallying beyond this pannychis, begging to be heard. Yet my solitary garrison quavers none, and left to my own devices, I arm myself against those shots in the midnight, forays into forests of violent crimes, heart hammering against my Adam’s apple so harshly that I am confident I may simply poke my tongue out and watch its scarlet palate throb. The fear, the intensity, the asperity of it all, finally taking its toll on me before I waned away my lurid admonition; my enemy was not those who wish me dead at their skins, it is I and this foolish quavering soul. The paroxysms of resentment and infinitesimal blinks and twitches of arrogant pain jolting through my spinal fluid, kneecaps shattering and popliteal sweating as I kneel forcibly, succumbing indignation and surrendering both hands to the efficacious reign of the nightmare, derisive silhouette shifting only ever smugly in its carved skeletal throne, positioned rightly upon a bejewelled vestibule. The requiem wails its bereft knell. One by one, the myriad astrology coruscates into wretched dimness. The universe has gone out. Only nonexistence, spilling with emptiness and triumphant in its ironic vitality, remains to be seen. The nightmare sneers. Too late.
And, at the very destruction and devastation of both my tantamount solidarity as well as the fabric of reality, at the amusing otiosity of it all, at the grandest scheme of this laughable redundancy, I can only wonder with a morbid rickety grin, unto what end shall it all lie?