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, that is

as empty as the chains

with which it speaks;

outside, death and mourning,

wailing and destruction,

but in here we are safe;

perhaps;

addicted to our deceptions,

our lies, our diseases,

deceived by the illusion,

trapped in the cages,

drowning in the cesspools,

surrounded by the swamps;

we make our choices,

we choose our failures,

we cry and scream,

we search and dream,

we make our 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;

there are no mistakes.

.

.