On the prospect of nothingness and vanishing, as such

It's noone's fault that things are the way they are, be it so
 Except the First Cause of the Universe's solar systems
 The father of God, the nothingness of the prematrix's soul
 White noise of the white trash, singin' of origin, seeds and stems.

 Blinkin' behind the whitest shade of pale, seein' no things
 No shapes, sizes, no forms, no matter or substance of kings
 No queens, no reproduced genes, no mitotic DNA on display
 Imagine no dots of stars to connect, dead, unborn ends, no today.

 No tomorrow, forgot about everything from yesterday's troubles
 It's unformed grapes, it's buds burned to fairy smoke bubbles
 If you can't follow this pretzel logic, pour on some mustard seed
 Drink a coke or a fanta, your last breath is comin' to stop the bleed.

 What it is?  Somebody can't tell me, therefore it's nothing
 Nothingness itself, now that's an entirely different story
 It's an imaginary lack of all things seen, heard, tasted, smelled
 A feeling is left, absence of all other things, conscious mind's still.

 No more junkies, thieves or whores on this side of Milky's Way
 That means no gangsters, thugs or states stealin' what's yours
 All being itself is long gone as if it never, ever was there yesterday
 A miracle that a hydrogen implosion caused vice-joy to the worlds.

 by
 RICHARD JOSEPH STEPHAN
 c. August 8, 2014 Friday @ 12:12 PM
( written BULL'S EYE listenin' to EVERLAST "Tired," "Long Time," et al @ http://youtu.be/nqcZdK9oPgA?list=RDnqcZdK9oPgA )