there is no end to oblivion
not to be daunting,
or manic depressed--
there is a perplexed outlook on
nothingness and void
and all the vacuum words
that smother meaning
in her sleep

everyone seems to forget
that order stems from nowhere,
after all, little bits colliding to form some
mystical cooperation

but everyone is so insistent
that it's all meaningless
and that's fine but

it doesn't matter much--
can't we just be honest
and take note that

we tend to pull the world apart
in pursuit of
what holds it together