Somewhere, on the edge of madness, is where I reside now, and uncertainty comes casually to this unmarked, forgotten territory-- Not quite sure what unsettles my composure here, among the discarded-debauched faces that unnerve me; the tone of our voices colliding, a melody unsound born as consequence. Perhaps the sudden spouts of spastic, retarded-irrational chatter is what adds that touch of insanity; spicy smoke slowly caressing light-cracked lips of apathetic disregard, or my soul, disturbed and irreversibly scarred even though it continues to stand solid, stretched tall despite being cast in perditions light, its tint blue-grey and so perceptibly morbid... Again I am reminded that chaos and thoughts entwine mirroring each other to produce the final deluded reflection; settle for what never remains constant but is, to a point, consistent in comfort, peace, and inner happiness, and most things will fade with time and patient stalking. The direction of this has no order, my life, like my thoughts, strung out and strangely tied together. Whatever spider in my skull spun this was trippin on somethin other than itself or my near-absent attention span; but when I do decide to focus, most regret it, bleeding in the aftermath-- cut open, by my keen, sometimes cruel curiosity. So many faces, yet there is still the truth at the center of my being; denial could never settle-- I've always been restless and uncomfortable accepting a lie, or any deluded method of deception, even when it's a product of my own psyche and its various short-comings. Amusingly I still have an almost demented talent for feeding these lies to those that I feel are better off clueless-- or at the least very confused-- about what lies underneath. What's even better still? Afterwards I remain inculpable. Regret and guilt, I've found, are best reserved for the offenses that count, and serve mostly to remind me of what not to do ever again. The past haunts the mind and spirit only when it continues to affect the present and upcoming future; choice is a constant factor, whether one decides to make use of it, or chooses to believe that they don't have the ability-- that they don't have the strength and intellect to use it and produce a modest-but-beneficial outcome. Most fall prey to the common act of not being aware, walking around half-awake and disregarding details, details that, in the end, leave them vulnerable to attack, and frankly, they deserve to suffer the consequence.. But now I'll leave it be, this feeling of purgatorial neutrality-- restless prodding will unveil the source soon enough, but now the face of her before me proves soothing, kind in its beauty, and that's more than sufficient: It's Wonderful and brilliant because of its sublime simplicity.