꙳͙ * ∗*. IᑎᐯᗩSIᐯᕮ TᕼOᑌGᕼTS 𓆸

Am I an orphan in the orchard of my origin? Or am I a dandelion blossom puffed and dead? Thinking about giving up again... ....on the question Who am I to say if it is what it is? Who am I to say? What's beginning or end? Why do I feel the need to argue? Why do I do what I do? Where the fuck did that begin? Is it too late? Am I starting over? Was it free will or my fate? Can't I let the questions grow ..... ......and die like dandelion puffs on the roadside? Every non-answer keeps burning like unhealed scars in my peripheral sight If the punchline stays implied Is meaning in the mess? Can I catch it on the wind from those words never confessed? I think, The dandelion knows where it's going even after it forgets Can't get lost on the journey If you never open up the map When every map keeps getting wider when all directions point to "why?" something says, let the reasons go let the punchline stay implied Thought keeping my mouth shut would hide it but it puffed and scattered in the wind You'd think I would have learned by now But there I go again I shatter my own self defense illusion Even though I deserve the defense this time I cant move to turn the key to the ignition So I am sitting frozen at the end of the drive watching dandelion puffs scatter on the wind they go.... ...so why can 't I Can't embrace the punchline if I can't deliver it If the punchline stays implied Is meaning in the mess? Can I catch it on the wind from those words never confessed? I think, The dandelion knows where it's going even after it forgets Can't get lost on the journey If you never open up the map Blindside is my own point of view Sick of 20 20 being hindsight Can I leave questions in the rearview? Like dandelion puffs on the roadside? Every answer is unclear when I look with my peripheral sight I begged the punchline not to stay implied to tell me the meaning's in the mess I keep listening for it in the wind but maybe it's in the words I wouldn't confess One question after the other an answer not sought each time for every illuminating answer my ignorance keeps me blind does the dandelion know where it's going after it forgets? Maybe that's the beautiful absurdity I haven't gotten to yet...