No Mistakes

I lose track of the days,
in this life
that is no life,
holding on,
slipping farther away,
feeding hungers and lies
that know no limits,
desperately reaching out
for the truth that heals,
silently seeking redemption
in a ravenous world
that consumes
everything in sight,
speaking wisdom
as empty as the chains
with which it speaks.

Outside is death and mourning,
wailing and destruction,
but in here we are safe;

perhaps;

addicted to our deceptions,
our lies, our diseases,
deceived by our illusions,
trapped in the cages,
drowning in the cesspools,
surrounded by the swamps.

We make our choices,
we choose failure over success,
we cry and scream,
we search and dream,
but we make our own choices.

There are no mistakes,
in the end we become
what we are,
monsters of our own making,
creations of our own choosing,
monsters and demons,
basking in the warm, electric glow
of the sinister excitement,
living vicariously through
their evil existence;

we alone choose.

There are no mistakes,
in our ineptitude
we bumble along,
careening down paths
without a clue,
blindly searching for the truth
and light,
and sun,
and sky,
but there are no mistakes,
it is all as intended,
every word,
every second,
every moment,
every shit,
every fuck,
every amen;

there are no mistakes.
.
.