Stream of Consequence

There's no fortune according to the course we've endorsed,
just portions of exorbitant morbidness.
Think of how we stick our swords in and twist,
hoping there's Reason we can force to exist. Exploring with
open focus devoted to hopelessness, I've known of it;
I let the beast out with concordances. Connecting
to elemental endorphin-rifts playing neuronal orbit-drift:
watch the electron kick split your best drawn wit,
with flesh all red from the headstrong myths,
that led you to get stepped on. Quick with the catch-all.
Conceptual netting letting blood from the bedding
that your ideological souls attempt to rest on. Sit
with my focus entrenched in the fabric of Legends.
Rapid and rabid with message, savage in session,
way beyond, past the procession, fashioned progression.
No lacking of weapons when crafting suggestion.
Staying strong, enraptured and yet...
Just sit and stare at blackness and let the madness collected
keep your passion in check if, only you had the knack for investment.
Lyrical arbitrage: steering through barbed designs,
lacerating your darkened mind through furious stark decline.
Keep your miracles; your cyclical pivot and reciprocal distance.
Change isn't estranged from the literal instance.
Embedded in physical imprints: no synthetic or mystical "misclicks."
Instead its the simplest measurement. No pressure or isn't there?
Listen here: there's no disease, no flowing stream, or fiscal year
encompassing the rush of our thunderous... simple fear.
I live in mirrors. Shards are my ardent peers: broken reflexiveness.
I guess the ramification is the matrix we've chosen to let persist.
There's no moment of exorcism, no opus of essences.
Only the poet and his soul on a spending binge.
Consequent: purging letters in a concurrently growing eclectic-itch.