The Best In Me

I see it sometimes you know.  A promise of a whisper of potential; Fearlessness.  What we long for is the very shit which keeps us embedded in fear.  We fear "it" the most, cuz then what?  What happens when we reach that peak and that's the top?  No more trekking up an unfavorable distance straight into the arms of whatever awaits...just you...and the air...and the view.  Nothing but down.  A brilliantly molded moment of anticipation fulfilled....................................and than nothing.  Death?  I don't think it goes down quite like that.  More anguish and solitude is required, I do believe before the "peak" reaches it's bony ass hands down your throat and takes the breath from your very chest.  So i ask myself, What do I want most?  The answer is glaringly honest, simple and altogether pitiful.  I shame myself answering said quandary.  So why do i spend so much effort and time divulged to rendering a response to the query when I have always known the answer? 

"Go West,  Young Man."

That has been in my head for some time.  As if it matters.  Here, there...it's all the same disappointing madness.  The same, the same....always the same.  Forever the same in fact.  Why must I rage then?  rage, rage against the dying of my spirit?  It's far more impactful(not a word) with a question mark, no?  The best in me, by the way, is alcohol and the right amount of weed smoked at the perfect time.  Timing.