Call of the Void

A cosmic mix up.
This nebula of incompetence affirms 
the hatchling mediocrity of your intelligible wants. 
Bereft of sense and common clout, 
you are derided to the ends of this misbegotten thought--
destined to wither to dust. 

You’d do best to heed the call and venture forth into the nether; 
for redemption is a flickering asterisk in the cosmos.

Ill equipped as you are to brave the tumult, 
the bramble thickens around you:
It emboldens you into obscurity, obfuscating your identity,
and you are free to fail
Shamelessly
in solitude. 

Before you ration reason and wean yourself from depravity
the blinking persists, brighter.
Blinkering nonsense for senseless hope,
yet you continue to breathe promise and expire dread:
For what else can you do if the metronome persists?

IT stares back at you starkly,
inviting madness.
Raving frantic, the void undulates;
insidiously entices
the precipice of oblivion.

Yet this is the cost of your freedom:
To battle through morass and miasma
and emerge victorious into the cold, brutal 
miracle that is existence.