Black Hole

Turning around to find yourself facing
the yawning, gaping mouth of the future
a black hole of unknowns grabbing
at you with tiny black, star-speckled hands

The weight of it's gravity pulls you to your knees
wide-eyed stare of uncertainty, unable to look away
limitless vacuum that no light can escape
not knowing, the torrent of fear in perpetual motion

The mind's desperate grasp for something to hold onto
feet slipping forward into far-away, formless infinities
the tension of muscles trying to cling to past and present
an ill fated battle against all powerful time

So afraid to surrender to the inevitable destination
distracted by the scent of suffering in smaller doses
marveling at the mind's ability to imagine countless possibilities
exhausting itself to find safety in contingencies for each one

The hopeful illusion of life as a game of chess
pretending there are a set of correct moves to make
that will spare you from all pain and regret
the pressure to perform perfectly enough to find peace 
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