So bored of throwing stones
around the glass house of consciousness;
of exalting or bemoaning
        existence.

Too many words already written &
even more waiting to arrive,
so why continue to
        write?

Is it only to kill the time,
or find some way to bridge
the vast divide
        between us all?

Or maybe a failed attempt to deny
that the Rise is really the Fall;
there will never be a way to
        escape alive.

& the words will continue regardless,
unmoved by constant confusion & doubt.