On the edge of everything

Now I think with the eyes that should see nothing, and truly they do not see, for the very love of blindness; the blindness has me shut to the rest of the truth I should know, for had I known I should not think the thoughts running through my head now. But the question is: what should I have known? This, I think is what has screamed so loudly in my eyes- my eyes heard it and my heart leaped at the realization of what I heard- though I should’ve heard it long ago. And I did hear it long ago, only I was too blind to it, open to the very opposites which had appealed to my senses, and I embraced them with the love of all that never existed- they existed only in my mind, and I gave them their realities…

And I gave them their realities, and they sucked me deep into myself, cold and unmoving, and I fell in love with me while I ate me to the last drops of my pitifulness, while I groaned in the pleasure of my delusions- I died and didn’t know. And the story lives on in itself…

And the story lives on in itself. I open me up to the possibilities of what could just be higher than my pathetic self-sorryness. This is much bigger than I thought, I think. And in this, the new realization dawns: there’s really something out there than I can imagine; something in here than I could possibly speak of. But the dangers are great…

The dangers are massive, and I fear the falls, the stones, the dust; I fear the very idea. It’s dark out there, much as it’s bright in here and I wonder if I’ll complete this, or I’ll return like I’ve always returned- with nothing. And time won’t tell… Time won’t tell, and I have many a long way to pass…