Realization

As I sit down to write
the thing that causes me to write
that allows me to
that
forces
me
to
is the very thing
that empowers
that glorifies
that encases
that restrains
that dooms
each of us.
It is the gift
the curse
of realization.
For it has allowed us
to do so many things
yet reminds us
that we have accomplished nothing.
we attempt
to control the overpowering complexity
of our own minds
and seemingly few
stumble upon this very
realization
that we are nothing.

IT is a seed
planted beneath the tangled vines
of what i've been taught
fed by curiosity
newly accepted human nature
only now
do ITs leaves break through
it begins to feed on the nutrients
of the vines that surround it
bind it
our manufactured being
flawed ideals
serve only to nourish it
as it grows ever stronger
and dominates my mind
the plant devours
those most comfortable vines
while the vines
choke
squeeze
suffocate
one must choose
either close your eyes
or
let go of control
entirely
and be the first to see
the other side.
The realization
is there
to consume you
to save you
to serve as the result
of our greatest mistake.

I am at the edge
afraid to look over
yet unwilling to turn back.
I am stuck
torn
frantic
yet no answers appear...
now...
i am slipping
the empty shells draw me back in
uncertainty is my weakness
it ravages my will
until i am surrounded in reassurance
once again
and all that remains
all that i've kept
is my realization
i am nothing.