I'm Trusting The Universe and Myself (Only To Be Questioned Again).

I always want everything
to mean everything
over-analytical of every action and reaction
obsessing about the past to the metaphysical,
                                                 metamusical,
                                                 metalyrical psalms of metaphorical ancestors
obsessing on the horizon as it descend, as the day passes
grasping desperately to moments I never even touched
I'll find a "hum" for a moment, though.
I just can't hum with delight that time passes.
How fleeting.
Maybe it's just the conflict that arises when I'm looking for(word) to acknowledgment
and i hide the guilt in cryptic letters to my "Id".
And a fear boils at the heat of thought that this was never meant to be.

But the stagnant life is the homicide of souls.
To its extremities is to push beyond the boundaries of physical existence.
To die? Again and finally?

If creation follows you, it haunts me.
And is the only trail i have left behind anyway.
The only energy output,
because my definition is white-blanked out from the most honest of answers.
Meaningless, Maybe?