transforming

Riding the tale of a comet, I pause to reflect on the antiquity of my sorrows.
Yesterday is the foundation of my remarkable dash between the dates on my tombstone.
I search for peace inside the beating of my heart that matches the universe as I scale the wall to my tomorrow.
I yearn for solitude ,yet crave company in my turmoil.
I cannot fathom the reason for the face that I see.
I seek rapture and no longer crave redemption.
Passion is the fleeting symptom of release to the side of oblivion I careen into as I sleep.
Waking is merely words falling from my face as I try to rectify my existence.
Shadows slither so slowly now I can see the total outline if I stare long enough.
Solid masses solidify out of the curtain of nothing as I search for nonentity.
Seeking to name this delusion is a terrible waste of the precious beating of my aging heart.
Truth can be vanquished if we return to normalcy.
Nothing gained by pretending.