Grind

Do you ever wonder
about the futility
of it all...
That every little aspect
of your life
is simply an exercise
in self-indulgement,
meaningless other
than the artifice
society assigns you,
as your consciousness
breaks off
in small chunks,
shattering,
spiraling outward
leaving trails of
afterthought
bleeding through
the atmosphere
of your subconscious,
smearing,
confusedly concocting
random misaligned
phrases,
bearing unsweetened
sanity to the far
reaches of your mind,
shuffling brains cell
through a cyclic
infinity,
dredging all through
mercurial ecstasy,
searing your retinas
until your brain
confesses its desire
to surrender
and relenquish
all awareness
to the ever-present
grinding,
as wheat to
the millstone,
pulverized to
an ultra-fine granulated
powdery dust
fashioned in simplicity.