like the end of something wonderful sometimes

the heat just consumes until the end is 

perfectly infused into the entropy that is nothingness

how inconsequentially aligned finite endings are to

entropic confusion and pointless thoughts

when it rains it's poor

isn't that the adage?

when the life blood is most needed it's

just collected in a dilapidated bucket

still leaking in the bottom

i guess the filigree written in reality

the finest fucking lines ever written

are "the end is just a beginning"

and nothing is really concluded except

for each individual quanta of time that

will never be repeated and never be felt or 

understood again

the conflagration is all consuming

enveloping with it old worry and my old self

leaving behind (rising in new glory)
a more imperfect form

full of anxiety and stress

the only thing left to do then

is to accept chaos as a constant

nothing is a realization of substance

and to realize all things

just aren't meant to align