The Stars Incline, They Do Not Determine

 starlight cascades

in endless echoes

across my ashen and hollow mind

i am a builder of labyrinths

without the hope of exit

either these puzzles

of stone and shadow 

are empty save for me,

or they are not.

both possibilities

are equally terrifying

i still blunder in the dark

trance-like in my blind crusade

to find the exit, to find release

endless dead ends

and switchbacks

have ground any expectation

of success to the nub.

How can one have hope

when failure is all this place is built of?

All someone has tasted?

they only drink ever given

was misery and disappointment.

Swallowing that pill has killed

hope and aspiration.

Like the blackest of opiodes

life holds very little meaning to me

anymore